I 


JOH 


<VD.AM 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Of 
CALK  OKNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


MAKING  THE  MOST  OF  ONE'S  MIND 
A  GUIDE  FOR  ALL  STUDENTS.     BY  JOHN  ADAMS 


f 

V    ' 

J1 


MAKING  THE  MOST 
OF  ONE'S  MIND 


By 
JOHN  ADAMS,  M.A.,  B.Sc.,  LL.D. 

Professor  of  Education  in  the  University  of  London 


HODDER  &  STOUGHTON 

NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,   1915,  by 
GEORGE    H.    DORAN    COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  I 


TAKING  ONESELF  IN  HAND 


CHAPTER  II 
PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN 35 

CHAPTER  III 
MANIPULATION  OP  THE  MEMORY       ...       59 

CHAPTER  IV 
NATURE  OF  STUDY  AND  THINKING    ...      83 

CHAPTER  V 
MODE  OF  STUDY  .        .        .no 


Content* 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  VI 
READING  •  *  " 153 


CHAPTER  VII 
TEXT-BOOKS  AND  BOOKS  OF  REFERENCE.        .     178 

CHAPTER  VIII 
LISTENING  AND  NOTE-MAKING  .        .        .        .213 

CHAPTER  IX 
CONSTRUCTIVE    STUDY    IN    TRANSLATION   AND 

ESSAY-WRITING 240 

CHAPTER  X 
EXAMINATIONS.  .        .        .        .        .        .    264 


Making  the  Most 
of  One's  Mind 


CHAPTER  I 


AMONG  the  Romans  of  the  old  days  when  a  boy 
had  finished  his  education,  and  was  regarded 
as  fit  to  enter  upon  the  responsibilities  of  life,  he 
cast  aside  the  scarlet-bordered  gown  that  boys  then 
wore,  discarded  the  disc  of  gold,  silver,  or  leather 
that  hung  from  his  neck,  and  put  on  the  plain  black 
gown,  the  toga  virilis,  that  was  worn  by  men.  In 
those  days  this  entrance  upon  manhood  was  taken 
seriously,  and  was  accompanied  by  a  certain  amount 
of  ceremony.  The  boy  was  led  to  feel  that  his  new 
estate  made  heavy  demands  upon  him.  No  doubt 
it  meant  the  removal  of  certain  restraints.  Indeed, 
the  manly  gown  was  sometimes  called  the  toga 
liberior,  the  gown  of  greater  freedom.  But  it  also 
implied  the  imposition  of  new  responsibilities.  Orig- 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

inally  the  donning  of  the  toga  virilis  meant  the 
liability  to  military  service,  for  at  first  the  gown  was 
not  assumed  till  the  completion  of  the  seventeenth 
year.  Later  in  the  history  of  Rome  it  was  assumed 
at  an  earlier  age.  Indeed,  the  age  varied  consider- 
ably, but  it  may  be  safely  said  that  the  scarlet- 
bordered  robe  was  not  discarded  before  the  four- 
teenth birthday,  nor  retained  much  beyond  the 
sixteenth. 

This  variation  is  natural,  for  it  is  not  in  human 
nature  to  become  a  responsible  person  at  any  definite 
age  fixed  beforehand.  Boys  develop  at  different 
rates:  some  are  ready  at  fourteen  for  the  manly 
gown,  while  others  might  fittingly  retain  the  scarlet 
border  till  well  over  twenty.  After  all,  the  gown 
was  only  a  symbol.  What  it  signified  was  that  the 
boy  had  taken  over  his  life  into  his  own  hands.  He 
was  henceforth  to  be,  as  the  saying  runs,  "his  own 
master,"  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  less  free 
from  outward  restraint  than  our  modern  boys. 

We  have  no  ceremony  when  we  don  our  first  coat 
with  tails.  In  truth,  we  greatly  prefer  that  no  notice 
should  be  taken  of  the  innovation,  that  our  friends, 
in  fact,  should  be  considerate  enough  to  pretend  that 
we  had  been  dressed  in  that  way  all  along.  Indeed, 
our  gradual  and  unostentatious  adoption  of  the  garb 
of  manhood  represents  more  truly  than  the  Roman 
method  the  process  of  coming  to  what  are  called 
years  of  discretion.  No  doubt  there  comes  a  time  in 
most  lives  when  the  person  is  aware  that  he  takes 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

himself  in  hand,  when  he  assumes  the  responsibility 
for  the  ordering  of  his  own  life.  But  in  many  cases 
the  person  cannot  name  any  particular  time  at  which 
the  act  could  be  said  to  have  been  performed,  and 
we  know  that,  after  all,  the  assumption  of  the  manly 
gown  symbolizes  only  the  completion  of  a  process 
that  has  been  going  on  for  a  long  time. 

This  process  is  a  very  interesting  one  and  may  be 
called,  in  a  general  way,  reflection.  It  implies  the 
turning  back  of  the  mind  upon  itself.  We  are 
familiar  with  those  verbs  that  are  called  reflexive. 
Their  characteristic  is  that  the  action  begun  by  the 
subject  returns  back  upon  that  subject.  The  subject 
and  the  object  of  these  verbs  are  one.  If  I  wash 
myself,  there  is  only  one  person  occupied  in  the 
process.  The  /  that  washes  is  the  same  as  the  myself 
that  is  washed.  It  is  true  that  in  this  case  it  may  be 
said  that  one  part  of  the  self,  say  the  hands,  washes 
another  part  of  the  self,  say  the  face.  But  when  we 
pass  from  physical  actions  this  separation  cannot  be 
made.  When  I  say  I  blame  myself,  it  is  not  one 
part  of  me  that  blames  another.  It  would  appear  that 
the  whole  of  me  blames  the  whole  of  me.  When 
Cranmer,  at  the  stake,  thrust  his  right  hand  first 
into  the  flames  because  it  had  signed  the  document 
of  which  he  was  ashamed,  we  feel  that  there  is 
something  wrong  with  the  implied  judgment.  We 
cannot  separate  the  responsibility  on  a  physical 
basis.  The  whole  Cranmer  was  at  fault. 

Yet  there  is  a  genuine  difficulty  implied  in  all 
[3] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

reflexive  action.  Children  can  be  greatly  puzzled 
by  such  a  sentence  as  "Says  I  to  myself."  Are  there 
two  persons,  or  only  one?  How  can  a  conversation 
be  carried  on  with  only  one  person  present?  Even 
grown-up  people  have  to  recognize  two  aspects  of 
the  self.  /  as  speaker  say  something  to  myself  as 
hearer.  There  is  only  one  self,  but  it  is  acting  in 
two  different  ways.  In  one  respect  it  is  active,  in 
another  it  is  passive. 

Now,  at  very  early  stages  of  life  the  child  does 
not  quite  realize  the  extent  of  his  "self."  He  will 
speak  of  himself  in  the  third  person.  "Johnny 
wants  a  ride  in  Johnny's  coach."  By  and  by  he 
begins  to  perceive  that  the  Johnny  he  is  talking 
about  is  different  from  every  other  Johnny.  He  has 
more  interest  in  this  particular  Johnny  than  in  all 
the  remaining  Johnnies  in  the  world.  He  begins  to 
realize  that  this  Johnny  who  has  the  coach  and  other 
attractive  things  is  a  specially  interesting  person  on 
his  own  account,  apart  from  the  things  he  possesses. 
When  a  child  begins  to  pay  special  attention  to  this 
strange  Johnny  and  to  compare  him  with  other 
children,  he  has  reached  the  beginning  of  the  con- 
ception of  self.  But  there  are  here  obviously  two 
aspects  of  the  self:  the  self  that  examines  and  the 
self  that  is  examined.  These  two  aspects  are  given 
different  names.  The  examining  self  is  called  the 
subjective  self,  and  the  self  examined  is  called  the 
objective.  When  the  subjective  self  appears  for  the 
first  time  it  finds  the  objective  self  already  existing. 

[4] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

Johnny  has  had  many  rides  in  his  coach  before  he 
begins  to  turn  back  upon  himself  and  find  out  what 
sort  of  person  he  is.  Thus  it  would  appear  that  the 
objective  self  precedes  the  subjective,  but  all  that 
this  means  is  that  at  a  certain  stage  the  self  "comes 
to  itself,"  or  realizes  the  meaning  of  this  reflexive 
process  that  is  implied  in  selfhood. 

All  these  considerations  are  of  great  importance 
to  those  who  wish  to  take  themselves  in  hand  and 
make  the  most  of  themselves.  If  the  subjective  self, 
when  it  takes  stock  of  the  objective,  is  not  satisfied 
with  what  it  finds,  it  may  set  about  dealing  with  that 
objective  self  in  order  to  improve  it.  This  is  the 
beginning  of  real  personal  education.  It  is  true  that 
a  schoolboy  may  have  been  at  school  and  therefore 
undergoing  a  certain  kind  of  education  long  before 
he  realizes  the  two  aspects  of  the  self.  But  his 
genuine  personal  education  does  not  begin  till  he 
himself  takes  a  hand  in  it,  with  some  appreciation  of 
what  it  all  means.  Education  is  a  process  in  which 
there  are  always  two  poles,  an  active  and  a  passive. 
At  school  the  teacher  is  obviously  at  the  active  pole, 
the  pupil  at  the  passive.  The  teacher  is  said  to  edu- 
cate, the  pupil  to  be  educated.  Though  the  pupil 
is  said  to  be  passive,  it  does  not  mean  that  he  is 
necessarily  idle,  or  that  he  does  nothing.  In  the  two 
words  employer  and  employe  we  have  a  similar 
distinction.  So  far  as  employing  is  concerned,  the 
employer  is  active  and  the  employee  is  passive, 
though  so  far  as  work  is  concerned,  the  employer 

[5] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

may  sit  in  an  office  and  do  very  little,  while  the 
employee  may  be  carting  coals  all  day.  So  far  as 
education  is  concerned,  the  teacher  is  active  and 
may  be  called  the  educator,  the  pupil  is  passive  and 
might  be  called  the  educatee,  but  is  better  named  the 
educand.  With  an  ordinary  thoughtless  schoolboy 
who  just  does  his  daily  work  as  prescribed  by  the 
teacher,  we  have  a  case  in  which  the  teacher  is  all 
educator,  and  the  pupil  all  educand.  But  wherever 
we  find  a  pupil  who  takes  an  intelligent  interest  in 
his  education,  that  is,  who  not  only  does  his  daily 
tasks  but  understands  why  he  has  to  do  them,  we 
have  a  case  in  which  the  pupil  is,  to  some  extent,  an 
educator  as  well  as  an  educand. 

In  the  lower  classes  at  school  the  pupils  are  almost 
entirely  educands.  In  the  upper  classes  the  better 
pupils  gradually  begin  to  take  a  hand  in  their  own 
education,  and  become  more  and  more  educators  of 
themselves.  The  progress  of  a  really  good  pupil 
through  a  school  is  a  process  of  gradually  eliminat- 
ing the  need  for  an  external  educator.  This  does 
not  mean  that  the  teacher  becomes  of  less  use  in 
the  higher  classes,  but  that  his  use  is  of  a  different 
kind.  It  has  been  said  by  a  cynical  Frenchman  that 
a  cat  does  not  caress  us,  but  only  caresses  itself 
against  us.  In  the  same  way,  the  really  good  pupil 
educates  himself  against  his  teacher.  In  other  words, 
he  uses  the  teacher  as  a  means  to  aid  in  educating 
himself.  At  the  early  stages  the  teacher  directs  the 
whole  of  the  activities  of  the  pupil,  at  the  final  stage 

[6] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

the  pupil  should  direct  his  own  activities,  and  use 
the  teacher  as  a  means  of  using  these  activities  to  the 
best  advantage.  The  duty  of  the  teacher  is  clear. 
Thackeray  tells  us  somewhere  that  the  secret  of 
wooing  is  to  make  oneself  indispensable  to  one's 
mistress.  The  teacher's  duty  as  educator  is  exactly 
the  opposite.  His  aim  should  be  to  make  himself 
dispensable.  No  doubt,  as  teacher,  he  may  still  be 
of  the  greatest  possible  service,  but  as  educator  he 
has  succeeded  only  when  his  occupation  is  gone. 

You  who  read  this  book  are  by  that  very  fact 
proved  to  be  at  least  well  on  the  way  to  becoming 
your  own  educator.  The  book,  to  be  sure,  may 
have  been  put  into  your  hands  by  some  one  else,  who, 
to  that  extent,  is  your  educator.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  so  far  as  you  are  interested  in  finding  out 
what  the  book  has  to  say  that  will  help  you  to  man- 
age your  studies  better,  you  are  your  own  educator 
and  are  using  the  book  as  an  instrument.  You  will 
notice  a  certain  parallelism  between  the  child  coming 
to  a  knowledge  of  the  difference  between  the  sub- 
jective and  objective  selves,  and  the  pupil's  coming 
to  take  a  part  in  his  own  education.  In  both  cases 
there  is  a  turning  back  of  the  mind  upon  itself,  a 
considering  of  the  whole  position  of  our  relation  to 
others,  and  of  our  possibilities.  When  the  educand 
becomes  his  own  educator,  it  is  really  a  case  of  the 
subjective  self  taking  the  objective  self  in  hand  and 
determining  to  make  of  it  something  that  it  was  not 
before.  This  implies  some  sort  of  notion  of  the 

[7] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

aim  of  education.  It  has  to  be  remembered  that  the 
aim  of  the  State  in  education  may  be  one  thing  and 
the  aim  of  the  individual  another.  No  doubt,  look- 
ing at  the  matter  from  the  loftiest  standpoint  the 
two  aims  will  be  found  to  coincide.  But  in  the 
meantime  you  who  read  this  book  are  primarily 
interested  in  your  own  education.  You  want  to 
make  the  best  use  of  your  opportunities,  in  the  legi- 
timate desire  to  make  of  yourselves  the  best  of 
which  you  are  capable. 

This  aim  is  very  widely  recognized  to  be  the 
highest  aim  of  education,  and  it  is  usually  repre- 
sented by  the  word  self-realisation.  It  is  generally 
admitted  that  the  educator's  object  is  to  secure  the 
self-realization  of  the  pupil.  Some  young  people 
prefer  another  form  of  this  ideal,  represented  by 
the  term  self-expression.  Occasionally  the  two 
terms  are  used  as  if  they  were  synonymous,  but 
when  they  are  distinguished  from  one  another,  as 
they  ought  to  be,  the  higher  ideal  of  the  two  is  cer- 
tainly self-realization.  If  they  are  to  be  marked  off 
from  one  another,  self-expression  would  seem  to 
imply  that  there  is  a  self  already  in  existence,  a 
ready-made  self,  whose  only  need  is  for  expression. 
This  ideal  demands,  above  everything,  that  the  self 
should  be  free  from  restraint.  The  demand  of  those 
who  hold  this  ideal  is  that  they  should  be  free  to 
lead  their  own  life,  to  express  what  is  in  them,  to 
be  their  true  selves.  So  far  as  it  is  opposed  to 
hypocrisy,  and  favours  the  honest  expression  of 

[8] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

our  whole  nature,  the  ideal  is  all  right.  But  every- 
thing depends  upon  the  kind  of  self  that  is  being 
expressed.  The  theory  takes  it  for  granted  that  this 
self  is  worthy  of  expression. 

The  self-realization  theory,  on  the  other  hand, 
implies  that  education  is  to  be  a  process  in  which 
the  possibilities  of  the  self  are  to  be  developed.  But 
these  possibilities  are  for  evil  as  well  as  for  good. 
The  purpose  of  education  must  be  to  foster  the  good 
potentialities  of  the  self,  and  to  stunt  the  evil.  It 
may  be  said  that  to  do  this  is  to  cramp  the  freedom 
of  the  individual  soul,  and  it  is  the  perception  of 
this  danger  that  gives  to  the  self-expression  view 
its  power  over  the  public  mind.  But  those  who 
favour  self-realization  do  not  propose  to  impose  upon 
the  self  from  without  something  entirely  foreign  to 
its  nature.  All  that  is  proposed  is  to  make  of  the 
self  the  best  of  which  it  is  capable,  by  develop- 
ing and  fostering  those  qualities  in  it  that  make 
for  good,  while  repressing  those  that  make  for 
evil. 

But  whatever  may  be  said  about  the  restrictive 
tendency  of  the  self-realization  theory  as  exemplified 
in  the  ordinary  education  by  an  external  teacher, 
there  can  be  no  objections  on  this  score  in  the  case 
of  those  who  are  seeking  to  educate  themselves. 
Obviously  the  very  fact  that  the  self  has  become 
its  own  educator  is  a  proclamation  of  the  fact  that 
the  self  is  having  perfect  freedom  in  directing  its 
own  development.  Yet  this  very  introduction  of 

[9] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

the  notion  of  freedom  calls  up  a  point  of  contrast 
between  the  self-realization  and  the  self-expression 
ideals.  Self-expression  is  always  emphasizing  its 
demands  for  perfect  freedom.  There  must  be  no 
restraint.  The  self  must  be  left  perfectly  free  to 
act  according  to  its  own  dictates.  But  the  self- 
realization  view  accepts  limitations.  In  order  that 
our  highest  ideals  may  be  reached,  it  is  often  neces- 
sary to  submit  ourselves  to  many  restraints.  The 
highest  freedom  is  gained  by  subordinating  ourselves 
voluntarily  to  what  we  regard  as  wholesome  restric- 
tions. All  the  religious  paradoxes,  such  as  "in  Thy 
service  we  find  perfect  freedom,"  are  based  upon  a 
recognition  of  this  need  for  voluntary  subordination 
of  our  natural  desires. 

With  all  this  talk  of  self,  there  is  a  certain  danger. 
When  the  distinction  between  the  subjective  and  the 
objective  self  dawns  upon  the  child,  he  is  interested, 
but  he  seldom  talks  about  it.  His  discovery  affects 
his  attitude  towards  life,  but  not  always  as  the  result 
of  a  deliberately  thought-out  plan.  At  a  later  stage 
it  is  certainly  desirable  that  the  educand  should  con- 
sider what  is  going  on  within  his  soul.  Self-exam- 
ination is  necessary  to  intelligent  living,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  education.  But  there  is  the  danger  of  living 
too  much  within  ourselves.  To  be  conscious  of  our 
self,  to  know  how  we  stand  in  relation  to  other 
selves  and  to  the  outer  world  is  of  the  utmost  value 
to  us.  Indeed,  "coming  to  self-consciousness"  is 
the  technical  expression  used  by  certain  philosophers 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

to  mean  the  highest  point  to  which  human  thought 
can  attain.  Yet  the  very  expression  "self-conscious- 
ness" is  sometimes  used  to  indicate  a  quite  unwhole- 
some state  of  mind.  A  person  who  in  a  drawing- 
room  is  said  to  be  self-conscious  is  one  who  thinks 
too  much  about  himself  and  about  what  other  people 
think  of  him.  It  is  self -consciousness  carried  to 
excess  and  amounts  to  a  disease.  The  introduction 
of  consciousness  into  certain  of  our  ordinary  acts  is 
often  accompanied  by  a  loss  of  power  to  do  them  as 
well  as  usual.  Running  down  a  long  flight  of  steps 
is  an  easy  matter  if  we  think  nothing  about  it,  but 
if  on  the  way  we  begin  to  consider  what  we  are 
doing,  we  suddenly  find  ourselves  in  difficulties,  and 
are  quite  apt  to  stumble.  We  often  say  that  we 
cannot  do  certain  things  when  there  are  a  great  many 
people  looking  on.  The  things  are  easy  enough  in 
themselves,  and  when  we  are  by  ourselves  we  do 
them  without  thinking  much  about  them.  But  when 
we  are  aware  that  we  are  being  watched  we  begin  to 
think  about  how  we  are  doing  our  work,  and  con- 
fusion follows. 

If  the  introduction  of  consciousness  into  a  process 
has  this  disturbing  effect,  it  would  appear  that  it 
is  something  to  be  avoided.  Indeed,  a  distinguished 
French  psychologist,  Gustave  Le  Bon,  adopts  as  the 
motto  of  a  book  called  The  Psychology  of  Education 
the  words,  "Education  consists  in  causing  the  con- 
scious to  pass  into  the  unconscious."  Obviously 
this  cannot  mean  that  to  be  unconscious  is  prefer- 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

able  to  being  conscious.  Consciousness  in  itself  is 
essential  if  we  are  to  claim  the  rank  of  human  beings 
at  all.  The  trouble  is  that  it  is  sometimes  wrongly 
distributed.  Misplaced  consciousness  is  a  thing  to 
be  carefully  avoided.  The  place  of  consciousness  is 
in  dealing  -with  fresh  things,  or  with  things  that 
have  an  immediate  interest  for  us  at  any  particular 
moment.  When  we  are  learning  any  new  thing  we 
must  be  conscious  of  it.  We  are  painfully  aware  of 
every  motion  we  make,  for  example,  in  learning  to 
ride  a  bicycle.  But  as  we  go  on  and  acquire  skill 
we  cease  to  notice  each  individual  action,  and  con- 
fine ourselves  to  the  general  feeling  resulting  from 
balancing  ourselves.  All  our  actions  are  controlled 
by  the  brain.  Now  the  brain,  in  a  general  way, 
may  be  regarded  as  made  up  of  two  parts,  an  upper 
and  a  lower.  Speaking  still  in  a  very  general  way, 
it  may  be  said  that  the  upper  brain  is  the  seat  of 
consciousness,  while  the  lower  brain  has  the  control 
of  our  activities  that  are  carried  on  out  of  con- 
sciousness. When  we  are  learning  to  do  anything 
we  may  be  said  to  depend  on  our  upper  brain ;  when 
we  have  acquired  such  skill  that  we  do  not  need  to 
think  about  the  details  of  what  we  are  doing,  we 
may  be  said  to  work  with  our  lower  brain.  Thus  it 
is  not  unreasonable  to  say  that  we  run  up  and  down 
stairs  under  the  direction  of  the  lower  brain  without 
calling  in  the  upper  brain  at  all.  Everything  we 
can  do  without  consideration  falls  into  the  lower 
brain's  department.  Thus  we  do  most  of  our  spell- 
[12] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

ing  with  the  lower  brain.  It  is  only  when  a  diffi- 
culty arises  that  the  upper  brain  is  called  in  for  a 
consultation. 

You  are  not  to  take  all  this  physiology  too  liter- 
ally. In  one  sense  it  is  true  that  the  brain  always 
acts  as  a  whole,  yet  it  is  sufficiently  true  for  our 
purpose  to  accept  the  position  that  the  upper  brain 
is  in  the  position  of  the  head  of  a  great  commercial 
firm  who  sits  in  his  office  and  directs  all  the  new 
and  important  parts  of  the  business,  and  leaves  all 
the  routine  to  be  carried  on  by  his  subordinates.  He 
may  be  said  to  be  unconscious  of  all  that  is  going 
on  in  the  different  departments,  and  yet  from  his 
place  at  the  top  he  is  the  guiding  influence  that  keeps 
everything  going.  If  anything  goes  wrong  any- 
where in  the  business  the  head,  if  he  is  efficient,  at 
once  becomes  aware  of  it  and  gives  it  his  attention. 
In  the  same  way  the  upper  brain  attends  to  all  the 
new  and  difficult  mental  and  physical  processes,  and 
relegates  to  the  lower  brain  the  looking  after  all  the 
ordinary  or  routine  parts  of  our  living.  If  anything 
goes  wrong  anywhere,  however,  the  upper  brain  is  at 
once  aware  of  it,  and  takes  things  in  hand  till  it  is 
safe  to  turn  them  over  again  to  the  routine-controlling 
lower  brain. 

Real  living,  living  as  opposed  to  mere  existence, 
has  been  said  to  be  the  application  of  old  principles 
to  new  cases.  It  is  in  the  upper  brain  that  we  carry 
on  our  real  living.  When  we  are  educating  ourselves 
we  keep  on  passing  things  from  the  upper  brain 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

down  to  the  lower.  The  more  things  that  we  can 
leave  to  the  lower  brain  the  better.  What  is  wanted 
is  that  the  upper  brain  should  be  left  to  attend  to 
the  really  new  and  important  things.  Were  it  not 
for  this  power  of  passing  on  things  to  the  lower 
brain  it  would  be  impossible  to  make  any  intellectual 
progress.  We  would  be  all  the  time  occupied  with 
thinking  out  every  individual  action  that  our  daily 
life  demands.  As  it  is,  the  great  bulk  of  our  living 
is  carried  on  in  the  lower-brain  department.  The 
upper  brain  is  busy  all  the  time  dealing  with  new 
matter,  selecting  what  is  useful,  rejecting  what  is 
hurtful,  and  passing  on  the  useful  to  the  care  of  the 
lower  brain.  Once  an  activity  has  been  passed  into 
the  lower-brain  department  it  always  implies  waste 
if  it  is  called  back  into  the  upper-brain  or  conscious- 
ness department,  unless  something  has  gone  wrong, 
or  unless  for  a  definite  reason  the  upper  brain 
wants  to  examine  the  activity  in  relation  to  some- 
thing else. 

Consciousness  is  always  being  turned  in  some 
direction  or  other.  The  danger  is  that  it  may  be 
too  frequently  turned  back  upon  itself.  Self- 
examination  is  necessary,  and  no  really  good  work 
can  be  done  unless  we  keep  ourselves  well  informed 
about  ourselves.  But  there  is  danger  in  keeping 
ourselves  too  much  under  our  own  searchlight.  Too 
little  introspection,  as  this  process  of  self-examina- 
tion is  called,  results  in  a  dull  and  unintelligent 
personality.  But  too  much  attention  to  the  self  leads 

[14] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

to  the  morbid  state  that  we  have  seen  is  known  as 
self-consciousness.  This  peculiarly  unpleasant  state 
amounts  to  a  vice,  but  it  has  to  be  remembered  that 
it  is  an  intellectual  vice,  rather  than  a  moral  one. 
The  more  aggressive  form  known  as  selfishness  is 
marked  by  as  keen  a  sense  of  the  self,  but  in  a 
different  connexion.  The  selfish  person  is  saved 
from  excessive  attention  to  the  self  by  the  need  to 
concentrate  upon  the  things  that  he  wants  to  get  in 
the  interests  of  that  self.  He  is  not  so  much  con- 
cerned about  what  he  is,  or  what  people  think  he  is, 
as  about  what  he  can  get  for  himself. 

Intellectual  selfishness  comes  as  a  state  inter- 
mediate between  self -consciousness  and  ordinary 
selfishness.  It  may  be  called  self- reference,  and  can 
be  observed  easily  in  almost  any  conversation.  We 
are  all  very  much  inclined  to  respond  to  every  re- 
mark made  to  us,  by  a  mere  statement  of  how  the 
thing  affects  us.  Instead  of  carrying  on  the  train 
of  thought  suggested  by  the  remark  of  our  friend, 
we  are  apt  to  tell  him  the  train  of  thought  his  words 
have  suggested  to  us.  Our  friend  talks  about  his 
things  and  we  talk  about  ours.  The  conversation 
falls  into  two  more  or  less  independent  parts.  There 
is  a  story  about  an  old  Irishwoman  of  a  happy  turn 
of  mind  who  admitted  that  she  had  only  two  teeth 
in  her  head,  but  added  "Thank  God,  they  meet!" 
Too  many  of  the  conversations  one  hears  in  ordinary 
life  consist  of  two  parts  that  do  not  meet.  One  man 
says :  "Had  it  not  been  for  the  dogged  perseverance 
[15] 


Making    the    Most    of  Ones    Mind 

of  Smith,  the  boat  would  never  have  been  brought 
to  land."  His  friend  replies :  "Talking  of  dogs,  my 
neighbour  has  some  young  puppies  that  make  my 
life  miserable  with  their  yelpings."  This  crude  form 
of  self- reference  is  not  very  difficult  to  avoid,  if 
only  we  have  an  average  amount  of  good  feeling. 
But  the  deeper  form  of  morbid  self -consciousness  is 
not  so  easy  to  escape. 

It  is  indeed  the  besetting  sin  of  the  man  who 
takes  his  own  education  in  hand.  It  is  so  right  and 
necessary  that  he  should  take  stock  of  himself  regu- 
larly, that  he  is  very  apt  to  slide  into  the  vice  without 
being  aware  of  it.  Yet  the  results  of  really  honest 
self-examination  are  often  so  disillusioning  as  to  give 
little  encouragement  to  excessive  self-esteem.  In 
any  case,  it  is  obviously  necessary  for  you  to  get 
as  good  a  knowledge  of  your  own  powers  as  possible, 
if  you  are  going  to  take  up  seriously  the  task  of  self- 
realization.  In  order  to  make  of  yourself  the  best 
of  which  your  self  is  capable  you  must  find  out  all 
you  can  about  the  nature  of  that  self.  One  of  the 
Seven  Wise  Men  of  Greece  justified  his  place  among 
the  seven  by  a  saying  that  is  one  of  the  most  quoted 
of  the  multitude  of  saws  that  have  come  down  to  us 
from  those  old  times.  When  Solon  proclaimed  his 
famous  "Know  thyself,"  he  gave  a  piece  of  advice 
that  is  always  sound,  but  is  of  special  value  to  the 
young,  since  they  are  in  a  position  to  apply  the  knowl- 
edge of  themselves  that  they  may  acquire.  When 
the  proverb  tells  us  that  man  is  either  a  fool  or  a 
[16] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

physician  at  forty,  it  implies  that  mere  experience 
by  that  age  ought  to  have  given  us  such  a  knowledge 
of  our  physical  constitution  as  will  enable  us  to 
regulate  it  wisely.  But  if  the  knowledge  could  have 
been  acquired  in  the  teens  it  would  have  enabled  us 
to  make  applications  that  might  have  prevented  evils 
instead  of  merely  enabling  us  to  do  something  to 
remedy  them.  In  order  to  know  ourselves  it  is 
necessary  to  carry  on  deliberately  the  sort  of  vague 
and  unsystematic  examination  of  ourselves  that  we 
saw  took  place  when  the  subjective  self  set  about 
investigating  the  objective  self. 

No  harm  comes  from  an  examination  of  our 
physical  powers  such  as  we  make  when  we  consider 
whether  we  should  go  in  for  this  or  that  form  of 
game.  We  have  to  find  what  sort  of  "wind"  we 
have  got,  how  far  we  can  trust  our  eye  in  estimating 
distances  and  speeds,  whether  our  hand  responds 
easily  and  rapidly  to  the  suggestions  conveyed  by 
the  eye.  Similarly  in  matters  of  study  it  need  have 
no  evil  results  when  we  set  about  testing  our  native 
powers  in  order  that  we  may  be  able  to  adopt  an 
intelligent  line  of  action  in  planning  out  and  execut- 
ing our  schemes  of  self-realization. 

In  order  that  you  may  have  some  sort  of  guidance 
in  the  personal  stocktaking  that  is  essential  to  a 
proper  appraisement  of  your  power  as  a  student,  I 
fall  back  on  a  book  called  The  Schoolmaster.  It  was 
published  in  1570,  its  author  being  Roger  Ascham, 
a  famous  Elizabethan  teacher  who  was  concerned  in 
[17] 


Making    the    Most    of  Ones    Mind 

the  education  of  Lady  Jane  Grey  and  of  Elizabeth 
herself.  In  his  book  he  considers  the  qualities  that 
are  necessary  to  success  as  a  student,  and  in  his  turn 
he  falls  back  upon  what  Plato  says  in  his  great  work 
known  as  The  Republic.  In  the  seventh  book  of  The 
Republic  Plato  uses  seven  words  that  ought  to  be 
applicable  to  every  one  who  is  selected  for  the  highest 
training.  Ascham  takes  these  seven  words  and  ex- 
plains what  they  demand  from  the  student.  I  re- 
produce them  here  so  that  you  may  see  how  far 
you  meet  the  requirements  of  this  exacting  old 
schoolmaster. 

Evfyvfa  (Euphues)  :  "Is  he  that  is  apt  by  goodness 
of  wit  and  appliable  by  readiness  of  will  to  learning." 
Ascham  goes  on  to  demand  under  this  head  a  sweet 
and  strong  voice,  a  comely  face,  goodly  stature  and 
a  commanding  presence. 

Mv^ov  (Mnemon)  :  "Good  of  memory,  a  special 
part  of  the  first  note,  Euphues,  and  a  mere  benefit 
of  nature,  yet  it  is  so  necessary  for  learning  ...  as 
without  it  all  other  gifts  of  nature  do  small  service 
to  learning." 

<I>tAo^a0>7$  (Philomathes) :  "Given  to  learning; 
for  though  a  child  have  all  the  gifts  of  nature  at  wish, 
and  perfection  of  memory  at  will,  yet  if  he  have  not 
a  special  love  to  learning,  he  shall  never  attain  to 
much  learning." 

4>t/lo7io7>os  (Philoponos)  :  "Is  he  that  hath  a  lust 
to  labour  and  a  will  to  take  pains.  For  if  a  child 
have  all  the  benefits  of  nature,  with  perfection  of 
[18] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

memory,  love,  like  and  praise  learning  never  so 
much,  yet  if  he  be  not  of  himself  painful,  he  shall 
never  attain  unto  it" 

4>t/l>7xoo$  (Philekoos)  :  "He  that  is  glad  to  hear 
and  learn  of  another.  For  otherwise  he  shall  stick 
with  great  trouble,  where  he  might  go  easily  forward ; 
and  also  catch  hardly  a  very  little  by  his  own  toil, 
when  he  might  gather  quickly  a  good  deal  by  another 
man's  teaching." 

Zvjfvifixog  (Zetetikos) :  "He  that  is  naturally  bold 
to  ask  any  question,  desirous  to  search  out  any  doubt, 
not  ashamed  to  learn  of  the  meanest,  not  afraid  to 
go  to  the  greatest,  until  he  be  perfectly  taught  and 
fully  satisfied." 

4>t/lf7tatvog  (Philepainos) :  "He  that  loveth  to  be 
praised  for  well-doing  at  his  father  or  master's  hand. 
A  child  of  this  nature  will  earnestly  love  learning, 
gladly  labour  for  learning,  willingly  learn  of  other, 
boldly  ask  any  doubt."1 

Quintilian,  in  his  book  on  Oratory  also  gives  a  few 
of  the  points  that  are  essential  to  success  in  study. 
He  puts  in  the  forefront  memory  and  imitation,  but 
he  also  lays  great  stress  on  the  last  quality  that 
Ascham  mentions,  love  of  praise.  "Give  me,"  says 
Quintilian,2  "the  boy  whom  praise  stimulates,  whom 
honour  delights,  who  weeps  when  he  is  unsuccessful. 
His  powers  must  be  cultivated  under  the  influence 
of  ambition;  reproach  will  sting  him  to  the  quick; 

*The  Schoolmaster  (Arber's  edition),  pp.  38-42. 
*Institutiones  Oratories,  Book  i,  Chapter  III,  s.  6. 

[19] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

honour  will  incite  him;  and  in  such  a  boy  I  shall 
never  be  apprehensive  of  indifference." 

Quintilian  is  a  little  doubtful  about  boys  who  learn 
easily  at  the  beginning.  He  thinks  they  are  inclined 
to  be  impudent,  and  incidentally  he  shows  that  he  is 
not  so  keen  on  "zetetikos"  as  is  Ascham.  Still,  the 
English  schoolmaster  too  has  his  doubts  about  the 
quick  learner.  He  goes  out  of  his  way  to  distinguish 
between  what  he  calls  hard  wits  and  quick  wits,  and 
it  is  not  difficult  to  see  that  he  has  a  bias  in  favour  of 
the  hard  kind.  This  is  how  he  describes  them : 

"Hard  wits  be  hard  to  receive,  but  sure  to  keep:  painful 
without  weariness,  heedful  without  wavering,  constant  with- 
out newfangleness ;  bearing  heavy  things  though  not  lightly, 
yet  willingly;  enduring  hard  things  though  not  easily,  yet 
deeply,  and  so  come  to  that  perfectness  of  learning  in  the 
end,  that  quick  wits,  seem  in  hope,  but  do  not  in  deed,  or 
else  very  seldom,  ever  attain  unto."1 

This  distinction  between  the  two  kinds  of  wits 
leads  to  another  that  is  worthy  of  your  attention  in 
estimating  your  qualities.  We  are  all  familiar  with 
the  word  temperament,  and  are  aware  that  people 
often  excuse  themselves  for  certain  irregularities  on 
the  ground  that  they  are  the  outcome  of  tempera- 
ment. We  hear  a  great  deal  about  the  artistic  tem- 
perament and  its  vagaries,  and  many  people  wonder 
what  is  meant  exactly  by  this  and  other  tempera- 
ments. In  a  very  general  way  temperament  may  be 
described  as  the  physical  basis  of  character.  So  far 

*The  Schoolmaster,  p.  35. 
[20] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

as  our  character  or  disposition  is  determined  by  the 
nature  or  state  of  our  bodies,  it  may  be  said  to  show 
the  effect  of  temperament.  The  old  physiologists 
had  the  theory  that  the  state  of  the  body  had  a  direct 
and  specific  effect  upon  mental  states.  To  some 
degree  the  view  is  still  held,  but  in  a  very  different 
way  from  that  of  the  ancient  doctors  with  their  crude 
knowledge  of  anatomy  and  physiology. 

Temperamentum,  in  Latin,  means  a  mixing  in  due 
proportion,  and  what  the  old  doctors  thought  of  was 
the  mixing  of  certain  fluids  in  the  body.  There  was 
first  of  all  the  blood,  then  the  colourless  lymph,  next 
the  bile,  and  lastly  a  particularly  virulent  kind  of  bile 
called  the  black  bile.  According  as  one  or  other  of 
these  fluids  or  "humours"  got  the  upper  hand  in  the 
body,  did  the  person  belong  to  one  or  other  of  the 
four  recognized  temperaments — the  sanguine,  the 
phlegmatic  (or  lymphatic),  the  choleric,  the  melan- 
cholic. Certain  qualities  were  assumed  to  belong  to 
each  of  these  temperaments.  The  characteristics  of 
the  sanguines  are  love  of  movement,  vivacity,  light- 
heartedness,  hopefulness,  rashness,  impatience.  The 
phlegmatics  are  marked  by  slowness  of  movement, 
dullness,  incapacity  for  sustained  effort,  placidity, 
lack  of  fuss.  The  cholerics  show  ambition,  stub- 
bornness, love  of  work,  courage;  while  the  marks 
of  the  melancholies  are  depression,  sadness,  dark- 
sidedness,  reflectiveness,  and  humility.  You  need 
not  trouble  overmuch  to  determine  which  of  these 
temperaments  can  claim  you  for  its  own,  since  we 

[21] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

have  all  got  touches  of  all  of  the  temperaments,  and 
we  sometimes  seem  to  pass  from  one  to  the  other 
according  to  certain  changes  in  our  health.  Indeed, 
a  distinguished  German  psychologist,  Professor 
Lotze,  holds  that  we  all  pass  through  the  whole  of 
the  temperaments  in  the  course  of  our  ordinary  life : 
we  begin  as  sanguines  in  childhood,  pass  on  to  the 
melancholic  stage  during  youth,  become  cholerics  in 
our  mature  years,  and  end  up  as  phlegmatics. 

There  is,  however,  another  classification  of  tem- 
peraments that  is  more  worthy  of  your  attention. 
According  to  the  rapidity  with  which  we  respond  to 
stimuli  we  are  classed  as  sensories  or  motors.  The 
distinction  is  made  on  a  basis  of  nerve  reaction,  into 
which  we  need  not  enter  here.  It  is  enough  to  note 
that  the  sensory  temperament  is  marked  by  a  relative 
slowness  of  response.  People  who  are  sensories  are 
inclined  not  to  respond  at  once  to  any  suggestion,  but 
to  take  it  into  consideration  and  decide  upon  it  at  a 
later  stage.  The  motors,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
inclined  to  respond  by  action  at  once.  For  them 
knowing  is  but  the  vestibule  of  doing.  They  jump 
to  conclusions.  An  attempt  has  been  made  to  corre- 
late these  temperaments  with  sex  and  to  show  that 
women  as  a  whole  are  motors,  while  men  as  a  whole 
are  sensories.  But,  if  true  at  all,  this  generalization 
is  true  only  in  a  very  limited  degree.  It  appears 
that  at  school  age  there  may  be  something  in  it,  and 
that  this  may  account  for  the  bad  character  boys 
have  as  compared  with  girls  of  the  same  age  in  the 

[22] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

lower  parts  of  the  school.  At  the  early  stages  boys 
are  certainly  more  backward  than  girls,  but  in  the 
higher  classes  at  school  this  distinction  no  longer 
holds. 

It  is  worth  your  while  making  up  your  mind 
whether  you  are  a  sensory  or  a  motor,  as  it  may 
enable  you  to  compare  yourself  more  usefully  than 
you  otherwise  could  with  your  fellows,  and  to  deter- 
mine more  wisely  how  to  treat  yourself  as  a  student. 
If  you  find  yourself  markedly  sensory  it  may  be 
worth  your  while  to  try  to  speed  up  your  decisions, 
while  if  you  suspect  yourself  of  being  markedly 
motor  you  may  have  to  cultivate  the  habit  of  sus- 
pending judgment,  not  to  speak  of  action. 

There  are  other  qualities  of  your  mental  equip- 
ment that  you  should  know  about.  Memories,  for 
example,  differ  greatly  in  their  way  of  working. 
Some  people  have  what  are  called  verbal  memories 
and  retain  with  ease  any  form  of  words.  Others 
have  what  may  be  called  rational  memories  and  retain 
easily  any  facts  that  have  a  cause-and-effect  relation 
to  each  other.  Some  seem  to  remember  things  best 
by  their  relations  in  time,  others  by  their  relations 
in  space.  You  should  know  what  sort  of  memory 
yours  is,  and  whether  it  has  any  peculiarities.  So 
with  your  other  powers.  You  should  note  whether 
you  have  a  tendency  to  picture  out  what  you  read,  or 
whether  you  prefer  to  get  at  the  sense  as  rapidly  as 
possible  without  making  any  mental  pictures.  Most 
people  have  a  preferred  sense,  too.  That  is,  some 
[23] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

prefer  to  learn  through  the  eye,  others  like  to  learn 
through  the  ear,  still  others  through  the  sense  of 
touch.  The  first  kind  are  called  visuals t  the  second 
audiles,  the  third  tactiles.  This  does  not  mean  that 
the  visuals  learn  only  by  the  eye,  and  the  audiles 
only  by  the  ear,  but  that  each  prefers  to  have 
his  information  conveyed  through  his  favourite 
sense. 

In  practice  there  are  three  main  ways  ,of  acquiring 
knowledge :  observation,  intercourse  and  _rea_ding. 
We  may  use  our  senses  to  discover  the  nature  of  our 
surroundings,  and  reason  about  what  we  observe. 
We  may  talk  to  people  who  know  more  than  we  do, 
and  from  them  acquire  information.  Or  we  may 
turn  to  books  that  have  been  written  with  the  express 
purpose  of  communicating  knowledge.  In  observa- 
tion and  intercourse  we  usually  learn  incidentally. 
By  using  our  senses  and  by  talking  to  our  neighbours 
and  friends,  we  cannot  help  learning  something,  even 
though  we  have  not  set  out  to  acquire  knowledge. 
What  we  learn  is  a  sort  of  by-product  that  comes 
without  being  actually  sought  for.  The  mere  process 
of  living  always  implies  the  picking  up  of  knowledge 
in  a  more  or  less  haphazard  way.  We  are  educated 
at  school,  no  doubt,  but  we  are  also  being  educated 
all  the  time  by  our  ordinary  course  of  living.  The 
difference  is  that  at  school  we  are  taken  in  hand  by  a 
person  whose  business  it  is  to  educate  us,  whereas 
in  ordinary  life  we  are  educated  by  our  surroundings 
without  anyone  having  any  special  intention  to  act 
[24] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

as  our  educator.  We  are,  as  we  say,  "licked  into 
shape"  by  the  circumstances  of  life. 
,  In  our  deliberate  attempts  to  acquire  knowledge 
we  may  depend  on  intercourse,  or  we  may  fall  back 
upon  books.  While  we  are  at  school  the  two  forces, 
living  intercourse  and  reading,  are  both  essential 
parts  of  our  education.  But  pupils  differ  according 
to  their  preferences.  Some  learn  much  more  easily 
from  the  word  of  mouth  instruction  that  they  get 
from  their  teacher;  others  profit  more  by  reading 
quietly  for  themselves  the  text-books  on  the  different 
subjects.  The  first  kind  of  pupils,  when  they  leave 
school  and  still  desire  to  carry  on  their  studies,  are 
inclined  to  attend  lectures  by  preference,  while  the 
second  rely  more  upon  reading.  Naturally  the 
audiles  incline  to  accept  the  lecture  system,  while  on 
the  whole  the  visuals  prefer  to  get  their  information 
from  books.  But  there  are  other  matters  that  enter 
into  the  problem.  The  less  self-reliant  student  natu- 
rally prefers  the  lessons  of  an  actual  teacher  to  the 
unsympathetic  pages  of  a  mere  book.  You  have  then 
to  examine  yourself  rather  carefully  so  as  to  deter- 
mine which  line  of  study  is  best  suited  to  your  need. 
You  must  find  out  to  which  class  of  students  you 
yourself  belong. 

You  will  note  that  all  these  points  that  you  are 
invited  to  observe  about  yourselves  are  matters  of 
fact.  Accordingly  they  should  not  lead  you  into 
temptation  in  respect  of  conceit.  Indeed,  if  you  are 
honest  with  yourself,  and  anything  else  is  fatal  tQ 

[25] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

success  as  a  student,  the  result  of  your  investigations 
is  more  likely  to  be  depressing  than  otherwise.  A 
careful  estimate  of  your  own  powers  will  almost 
certainly  make  you  appreciate  defects  in  yourself  of 
which  you  would  otherwise  have  been  unconscious, 
and  merits  in  others  which  would  under  different 
circumstances  have  escaped  your  observation.  All 
the  same,  there  is  undoubtedly  a  tendency  to  become 
self-conscious  involved  in  all  this.  The  best  way  in 
which  this  tendency  may  be  countered  is  by  acquir- 
ing an  interest  in  the  subject-matter  of  your  studies. 
For  a  time  your  honest  study  of  yourself  may  lead  to 
a  somewhat  unwholesome  concentration  of  conscious- 
ness upon  yourself.  But  if  you  proceed  to  apply,  as 
soon  as  possible,  the  knowledge  you  have  acquired  of 
yourself  to  the  practical  problems  of  your  education, 
you  will  get  rid  of  the  superfluous  consciousness  by 
transferring  it  to  the  difficult  parts  of  the  problems 
you  are  studying.  This  looks  as  if  you  were  being 
encouraged  to  study  yourself  and  then  forget  all 
about  what  you  have  learnt.  You  seem  to  be  invited 
to  imitate  the  man  in  the  Bible  who  beholds  his 
natural  face  in  a  glass,  "for  he  beholdeth  himself, 
and  goeth  his  way,  and  straightway  forgetteth  what 
manner  of  man  he  was."  But  though  in  the  interest 
of  the  work  of  study  you  forget  about  your  tempera- 
ment, your  index  of  memory,  and  your  preferred 
sense,  you  are  applying  all  the  time  the  results  of 
your  knowledge  of  yourself.  Your  knowledge  is 
changed  into  power.  You  become  a  more  skilful 
[26] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

self -manipulator  because  you  know  better  the  self  to 
be  manipulated.  And  the  more  skilfully  you  use 
this  knowledge,  the  less  the  danger  of  your  falling 
into  the  vice  of  self-consciousness. 

But  this  vice  may  take  the  cruder  form  in  which 
the  subject-matter  of  our  studies  acquires  an  undue 
importance.  The  amount  of  knowledge  that  we  can 
acquire  of  the  outer  world  is  at  best  pitiably  small, 
yet  some  of  us  become  self-conscious  in  view  of  our 
attainments.  We  may  regard  the  knowledge  we  have 
won  as  in  itself  of  great  commercial  value,  and 
accordingly  gloat  over  our  mental  gain  as  a  miser 
does  over  his  hoard.  This  false  point  of  view  results 
from  a  wrong  notion  of  the  nature  of  knowledge  that 
we  shall  deal  with  later.  It  is  not  very  difficult  to 
avoid.  But  the  more  insidious  form  needs  all  our 
care,  and  in  spite  of  our  best  endeavours  is  apt  to 
catch  us  unawares.  We  may  regard  the  knowledge 
we  have  acquired  as  important  enough  in  its  way, 
but  may  value  still  more  the  form  in  which  we  have 
retained  it.  We  are  tempted  to  value  it  not  so  much 
because  it  is  knowledge  as  because  it  is  our  knowl- 
edge. We  become  intellectually  conceited,  and  it 
does  not  improve  matters  that  we  often  combine 
with  our  conceit  a  knowledge  that  we  are  conceited, 
while  we  make  a  certain  show  of  hiding  our  conceit. 
Plain  common-sense  people  dislike  this  compound 
state  of  mind  so  much  that  they  have  gone  out  of 
their  way  to  invent  a  special  name  for  it.  A  man 
who  has  fallen  into  this  vice  is  called  a  "prig,"  and 
[27] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

the  state  itself  "priggishness."  It  is  difficult  to  define 
a  prig,  but  the  leading  idea  underlying  the  term  is  a 
sort  of  complacent  intellectual  self- righteousness  that 
is  exceedingly  unpleasant  to  other  people.  A  man 
who  was  once  asked  to  define  the  term  said  that  he 
could  do  so  only  by  comparing  it  with  another:  A 
prig  is  one  who  has  too  much  self-respect,  a  bounder 
one  who  has  too  little. 

A  criticism  sometimes  directed  against  the  self- 
made  man  is  that  he  is  too  proud  of  his  maker,  a 
criticism  that  the  reader  of  this  book  should  take  to 
heart,  since  a  man  who  seeks  to  educate  himself  is 
really  one  who  hopes  to  be  by  and  by  a  self-made 
man.  Yet  the  first  lesson  to  be  learned  by  one  who 
would  educate  himself  is  how  best  to  use  the  help 
that  others  may  give.  The  term  self-educated  is  too 
frequently  restricted  to  those  who  have  had  no  help 
from  others:  it  is  too  often  supposed  to  mean  a 
person  who  has  not  been  able  to  go  to  either  school 
or  college.  Some  people  even  pride  themselves  upon 
their  freedom  from  the  cramping  influences  of  a 
conventional  education,  and  agree  with  the  sentiment 
expressed  by  William  Blake,  the  English  mystic,  in 
his  egregious  rhyme : 

"Thank  God  I  never  was  sent  to  school, 
To  be  flogged  into  following  the  style  of  a  fool." 

But,  as  we  have  seen,  schools  and  teachers  may  be 
used  by  the  pupil  for  his  own  advantage,  without 
in  any  way  sacrificing  his  independence.  A  man 
may  become  as  much  a  slave  to  a  book  as  to  a  teacher. 
[28] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

The  really  wise  person  uses  all  the  means  at  his  dis- 
posal for  furthering  his  education.  A  teacher  is  as 
much  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  a  self-educator 
as  is  a  book.  In  point  of  fact,  when  all  is  said,  it  has 
to  be  admitted  that  all  real  education  is  self -educa- 
tion. Unless  we  take  a  hand  in  our  own  education 
we  can  never  attain  to  the  best  possible  results. 

A  French  teacher  called  Jacotot  spent  a  great  deal 
of  time  in  showing  how  useless  and  unnecessary  a 
teacher  is — but  he  kept  on  teaching  all  the  same.  He 
and  many  others  have  plenty  of  examples  to  bring 
forward  of  distinguished  men  who  have  attained 
success  without  any  instruction  from  professional 
teachers.  But  these  brilliant  men  succeeded,  not  be- 
cause they  had  no  instruction,  but  in  spite  of  this 
lack.  Let  us  take  the  evidence  of  the  famous  French 
naturalist  J.  Henri  Fabre,  when  he  is  speaking  of  his 
studies  in  mathematics: 

"I  was  denied  the  privilege  of  learning  with  a  master.  I 
should  be  wrong  to  complain.  Solitary  study  has  its  advan- 
tages: it  does  not  cast  you  in  the  official  mould;  it  leaves  you 
all  your  originality.  Wild  fruit,  when  it  ripens,  has  a  different 
taste  from  hot-house  produce:  it  leaves  on  a  discriminating 
palate  a  bitter-sweet  flavour  whose  virtue  is  all  the  greater 
for  the  contrast.  Yes,  if  it  were  in  my  power,  I  would  start 
afresh,  face  to  face  with  my  only  counsellor,  the  book  itself, 
not  always  a  very  lucid  one ;  I  would  gladly  resume  my  lonely 
watches,  my  struggles  with  the  darkness  whence,  at  last,  a 
glimmer  appears  as  I  continue  to  explore  it;  I  should  re- 
traverse  the  irksome  stages  of  yore,  stimulated  by  the  one 
desire  that  has  never  failed  me,  the  desire  of  learning."1 

*The  Life  of  the  Fly,  English  Edition,  p.  292. 
[29] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

Yet  honesty  compels  the  old  naturalist  to  recall 
his  disappointment  with  the  mere  book : 

"The  book  is  just  a  book,  that  is  to  say,  a  set  text,  saying 
not  a  word  more  than  it  is  obliged  to  say,  exceedingly  learned, 
I  admit,  but,  alas,  often  obscure !  The  author,  it  seems,  wrote 
it  for  himself.  He  understood;  therefore  others  must.  Poor 
beginners,  left  to  yourselves,  you  manage  as  best  you  can ! 
For  you,  there  shall  be  no  retracing  of  steps  in  order  to 
tackle  the  difficulty  in  another  way;  no  circuit  easing  the 
arduous  road  and  preparing  the  passage;  no  supplementary 
aperture  to  admit  a  glimmer  of  daylight.  Incomparably 
inferior  to  the  spoken  word,  which  begins  again  with  fresh 
methods  of  attack  and  is  ready  to  vary  the  paths  that  lead  to 
the  open,  the  book  says  what  it  says  and  nothing  more. 
Having  finished  its  demonstration,  whether  you  understand  or 
no,  the  oracle  is  inexorably  dumb.  You  re-read  the  text  and 
ponder  it  obstinately.  You  pass  and  repass  your  shuttle 
through  the  woof  of  figures.  Useless  efforts  all :  the  darkness 
continues.  What  would  be  needed  to  supply  the  illuminating 
ray?  Often  enough,  a  trifle,  a  mere  word;  and  that  word  the 
book  will  not  speak. 

"Happy  is  he  who  is  guided  by  a  master's  teaching!  His 
progress  does  not  know  the  misery  of  those  wearisome 
breakdowns."1 

Here  we  have  the  case  very  fairly  stated.  There 
are  advantages  on  both  sides,  which  is  fortunate, 
since  most  of  us  can  now  have  the  advantage  of  a 
teacher's  help  if  we  really  want  it.  Most  of  those 
who  read  this  book  are  in  the  position  of  having  an 
instructor  or  instructors  in  their  studies.  We  must 
learn  how  to  make  the  best  use  of  them.  We  must 
not  rely  upon  them  too  much.  Professor  Laurie,  in 

*The  Life  of  the  Fly,  English  Edition,  p.  330. 
[30] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

speaking  of  the  advantages  of  poor  children  in  that 
they  had  to  rely  upon  their  own  efforts,  appealed  to 
the  well-to-do  to  make  such  arrangements  for  throw- 
ing their  children  on  their  own  resources  as  should 
give  to  them  "some  of  the  advantages  of  the  gutter." 
These  are  advantages  easily  gained  by  the  intelligent 
student.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  resolve  to  use  his 
teachers  only  in  so  far  as  he  finds  it  necessary  to  do 
so.  No  doubt  some  teachers  take  up  an  altogether 
wrong  attitude  towards  their  pupils,  and  the  pupil 
must  accordingly  put  the  matter  straight  by  using 
the  teachers  in  such  a  way  as  to  develop  his  own 
nature  in  the  freest  way  possible. 

It  is  no  part  of  a  teacher's  business  to  insist  upon 
making  his  pupils  like  himself.  It  is  only  Deity  that 
dares  say:  "Let  us  make  man  in  our  image,  after 
our  likeness."  Most  teachers  are  modest  enough  to 
recognize  this,  but  some  are  not.  It  is  the  really 
good  teachers  who  are  willing  that  the  clever  pupil 
shall  be  clever  in  his  own  way.  As  we  have  seen, 
the  true  teacher  attains  his  highest  ends  by  making 
himself  no  longer  necessary  to  his  pupil.  The  im- 
portant thing  for  the  pupil  is  to  be  ready  to  take  up 
the  freedom  that  the  teacher  allows.  Only  as  this 
freedom  is  accepted  can  the  pupil  retain  that  bitter- 
sweet flavour  that  Fabre  and  others  value.  Just  in 
proportion  as  the  teacher  ceases  to  direct  must  the 
pupil  take  up  the  control  of  his  own  education.  But 
it  must  never  be  forgotten  that  a  teacher  may  have 
ceased  to  direct,  without  ceasing  to  be  a  very  valu-* 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

able  help  to  the  pupil  who  is  conducting  his  own 
education. 

The  difference  between  school  and  college  may  be 
said  to  lie  just  in  this,  that  in  school  the  pupil  is  all 
the  time  more  or  less  of  an  educand,  whereas  at 
college  he  is  entirely  his  own  educator.  At  school  the 
teacher  prescribes  certain  portions  to  be  learnt,  and 
in  various  other  ways  shows  that  he  takes  upon  him- 
self the  responsibility  of  the  educative  process  that  is 
going  on.  At  the  university  the  professor  under- 
takes the  responsibility  of  presenting  his  matter  in 
the  way  best  suited  to  what  he  considers  to  be  the 
needs  of  his  students,  but  to  them  he  leaves  the  re- 
sponsibility of  learning.  In  the  German  universities 
the  students  lay  great  stress  on  what  is  called  the 
Lernfreiheit  or  freedom  of  learning.  They  claim  to 
be  free  to  learn  when  and  how  and  where  they  please. 
They  may  attend  their  classes  regularly  or  irregularly 
just  as  they  choose.  They  can  acquire  their 'knowl- 
edge from  books  or  from  lectures  or  from  inter- 
course with  others,  just  as  they  find  best  for  their 
special  needs.  The  university  insists  upon  their 
showing  at  the  end  of  their  course  that  they  have 
acquired  the  minimum  amount  of  knowledge  re- 
quired to  obtain  a  degree,  and  if  the  student  has  used 
his  Lernfreiheit  unwisely  he  has  to  go  without  his 
degree.  Going  from  school  to  university  under  these 
conditions  is  clearly  an  equivalent  on  the  intellectual 
side  to  donning  the  toga  virilis.  And  just  as  the 
age  at  which  this  toga  was  assumed  differed  in  indi- 
[32] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

vidual  cases  so  the  stage  at  which  the  pupil  passes 
from  the  partly  educand  partly  educator  stage  into 
the  purely  educator  stage  varies  in  individual  cases. 
Many  boys  have  become  purely  self-educators  long 
before  their  school  days  are  over,  while  not  a  few 
do  not  reach  this  stage  at  all,  even  at  the  university. 

The  very  fact  that  you  are  reading  this  book  shows 
that  you  have  advanced  at  least  a  good  way  towards 
the  stage  of  being  your  own  educator.  If  you  still 
have  teachers  to  help  you,  you  will  do  well  to  make 
of  them  the  best  use  you  can.  It  is  worth  while  to 
remind  you  that  it  is  not  the  business  of  your  teachers 
to  save  you  trouble.  In  many  cases  their  chief  duty 
is  to  make  you  take  trouble.  But  they  can  and 
often  do  save  you  from  taking  useless  trouble.  You 
may  think  of  doing  a  thing  in  a  particular  way,  and 
if  left  to  yourself  you  would  probably  succeed  in 
attaining  your  end,  and  yet  that  way  may  be  a  bad 
one.  It  is  better  than  none  at  all,  and  self-educated 
men  sometimes  become  proud  of  the  very  badness 
of  their  methods.  But  this  surely  is  unwise.  It  is 
no  loss  of  dignity  and  no  interference  with  your 
individuality  to  be  told  by  a  more  experienced  per- 
son which  is  the  most  economical  way  of  doing 
something  that  you  want  to  do.  It  is  here  that  the 
wise  self-educator  shows  his  wisdom  by  getting  all 
the  advice  he  can  before  entering  upon  any  bit  of 
work.  He  may  or  may  not  accept  the  advice  offered 
— therein  lies  his  freedom — but  he  will  at  least  enter 
upon  his  undertaking  with  the  fullest  knowledge 
[33] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

available  of  the  various  ways  in  which  his  end  may 
be  attained.  In  the  following  pages  will  be  found 
many  suggestions,  the  result  of  long  and  interesting 
experience  of  studying  and  of  students.  It  will  be 
for  you  to  give  these  suggestions  your  honest  atten- 
tion, and  to  decide  which  of  them  you  feel  called 
upon  to  adopt.  You  are  no  doubt  bored  at  the  con- 
tinual repetition,  by  those  whose  business  it  is  to 
speak  for  your  good,  of  the  threadbare  saying  that 
there  is  no  royal  road  to  learning.  But  there  are 
many  different  kinds  of  roads,  and  since  you  have  to 
walk  one  or  other  of  them  it  is  worth  your  while  to 
make  a  wise  selection  at  the  beginning  of  your 
journey. 


[34] 


CHAPTER  II 


PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN 

IT  is  as  essential  in  study  as  in  warfare  to  have 
a  satisfactory  plan  of  campaign.  Irregular 
desultory  work  never  produces  the  same  effect  as 
that  which  is  carried  on  with  a  definite  purpose 
and  on  clearly  thought-out  lines.  Our  plans  fall 
naturally  into  two  groups,  the  one  dealing  with  the 
subjects  to  be  studied,  and  the  other  with  the  distri- 
bution of  the  time  we  can  devote  to  each  study.  At 
school,  and  even  at  the  university,  the  general  lines 
of  our  subject-matter  are  laid  down  for  us  from 
above.  We  are  told  in  broad  outlines  what  to  learn, 
though  there  is  certainly  a  great  deal  of  room  left  for 
personal  organization  of  the  details  of  this  subject- 
matter.  With  this  we  shall  deal  at  a  later  stage. 
Here  we  are  specially  interested  in  the  distribution 
of  our  time. 

We  are  all  familiar  with  the  time-tables  that  we 

find  at  school,  on  which  the  week's  work  and  the 

work  for  each  day  are  clearly  set  out.    As  pupils  in 

a  school  we  must  conform  to  the  time-table,  so  there 

[35] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

is  no  more  to  be  said  on  that  head.  But  the  school 
time  is  not  the  only  time  we  give  to  study.  Every 
pupil  past  the  preparatory  stage  has,  and  ought  to 
have,  a  certain  amount  of  study  to  be  done  in  his 
own  time  and  at  his  own  pace.  This  time  must  fit 
in,  of  course,  with  the  requirements  of  the  school. 
That  is,  if  the  school  makes  heavier  demands  in 
Latin  than  in  Mathematics,  then  we  must  give  a 
proportionately  larger  amount  of  home  study  to 
Latin.  Further,  the  subjects  to  be  studied  each 
evening  will  be  determined  by  the  subjects  to  be 
taken  up  in  class  next  day.  The  result  of  all  this  is 
that  we  must  make  up  a  sort  of  time-table  for  our 
home  study,  and  it  will  be  found  necessary  to  make 
this  time-table  fit  in  with  that  of  the  school.  But 
the  moment  you  sit  down  to  write  out  such  a  table 
you  will  find  a  certain  difficulty.  You  will  discover 
that  the  total  amount  of  time  needed  for  preparation 
varies  from  evening  to  evening.  Some  evenings  are 
light  and  others  are  heavy.  You  will  find  that  the 
teachers  are  quite  aware  of  this.  But  though  they 
do  all  they  can  to  secure  a  fair  degree  of  uniformity 
in  the  amount  of  work  demanded  each  evening,  it  is 
impossible  to  arrange  matters  in  the  symmetrical  way 
they  would  like.  Accordingly,  you  will  see  it  to  be 
necessary  to  make  not  the  evening  but  the  week  the 
unit  on  which  you  draw  up  your  time-table.  That  is, 
you  must  see  to  it  that  if  Tuesday  evening,  for 
example,  is  a  specially  heavy  one,  you  do  some  of 
Tuesday  night's  work  on  Monday  night.  By  this 
[36] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

way  of  give  and  take  you  will  find  it  possible  to 
make  ends  meet  in  a  reasonable  way,  instead  of  loaf- 
ing on  the  easy  evenings  and  overworking  on  the 
heavy  ones.  You  must  be  responsible  for  your 
evening  time-table,  just  as  your  teachers  are  respon- 
sible for  the  school  one.  It  is  accordingly  rather 
important  that  you  should  take  account  of  the  nature 
of  a  time-table,  so  that  you  may  be  able  to  behave 
intelligently  in  making  and  using  one.  The  follow- 
ing points  deserve  your  attention. 

I.  In  drawing  up  your  time-table  you  must  not  be 
too  heroic.  When  you  first  sit  down  to  consider  the 
whole  question  you  will  probably  feel  yourself  in  a 
glow  of  noble  determination  to  do  the  thing  very 
thoroughly.  It  is  like  making  up  one's  mind  to  get 
up  very  early  next  morning.  For  the  time  being 
you  are  warm  and  comfortable  and  full  of  resolu- 
tion. Nothing  seems  too  drastic.  You  may  as  well 
be  thorough  about  it  when  you  are  at  it.  Mr.  H.  G. 
Wells  puts  the  case  very  graphically  in  his  Love  and 
Mr,  Lewisham,  where  he  gives  an  account  of  the 
inhuman  time-table  drawn  up  by  that  enthusiastic 
young  person.  Naturally  he  could  not  live  up  to  it, 
and  the  trouble  is  that  a  time-table  that  falls  through 
has  its  disastrous  after  effects.  In  order  that  you 
may  live  up  to  your  time-table  you  must  estimate 
very  carefully  beforehand  your  capacity  for  work. 
You  must  try  to  gauge  this  pretty  accurately,  for 
there  is  almost  as  much  danger  in  under-estimating 
as  in  over-estimating  your  powers.  No  doubt  it 
[37] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

would  be  easy  to  make  sure  of  overtaking  all  you 
laid  out  for  yourself  if  you  deliberately  put  your 
demands  well  below  your  powers.  But  the  result  of 
this  working  below  our  own  natural  level  is  ex- 
tremely bad.  It  involves  no  call  for  strenuous  effort. 
Everything  goes  smoothly  and  easily.  We  hardly 
rise  above  the  level  of  a  vegetable. 

We  must  have  ideals,  otherwise  we  shall  have  no 
incentive  to  work.    When  Browning  writes : 

"Ah,  but  a  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp, 
Or  what's  a  heaven  for?" 

he  suggests  the  essential  quality  of  an  ideal,  which  is 
that  it  can  never  be  fully  attained.  When  we  work 
to  attain  something  that  we  know  to  be  well  within 
our  reach  we  are  working  for  an  end,  not  for  an 
ideal.  This  appears  a  sensible  way  of  working,  and 
it  cannot  be  denied  that  at  first  sight  it  seems  an 
unsound  policy  to  encourage  people  to  work  for  an 
ideal,  if  we  start  with  the  assumption  that  an  ideal  is 
unattainable.  Indeed,  it  looks  as  if  the  beginning  of 
this  section  on  time-tables  was  written  just  to  warn 
you  against  undertaking  something  that  you  could 
not  succeed  in  carrying  out.  But  we  must  look  more 
closely  at  what  underlies  this  conception  of  the  ideal. 
In  your  studies  you  may  have  come  across  the 
expression  "the  mathematical  limit."  If  we  take 
ift>.,  ilb.,  ift).,  T^ft).,  ir*lb.,  Tnrflb.,  rWb-,  imrlb., 
and  add  them  all  together  we  get  very  nearly  a  whole 
pound,  in  fact  within  a  two-hundred-and-fifty-sixth 
part  of  a  pound.  This  is  near  enough  for  all  prac- 
[38] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

tical  purposes;  but  still,  if  we  go  on  adding  always 
another  fraction  exactly  half  of  the  one  preceding, 
we  get  nearer  and  nearer  to  a  total  of  exactly  one 
pound.  One  pound  is  here  the  mathematical  limit 
of  the  sum  of  this  series.  But  to  reach  that  limit 
we  would  need  to  go  for  ever  adding  fractions, 
which  enables  us  to  understand  the  definition  of  the 
mathematical  limit  as  "that  which  we  can  approach 
as  nearly  as  we  please,  but  never  actually  reach." 
This  corresponds  to  our  notion  of  an  ideal.  You 
remember  that  Goldsmith,  referring  to  the  horizon, 
has  the  suggestive  lines : 

"That,  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies, 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies." 

So  the  ideal  allures  from  far,  and  when  pursued 
proves  as  unattainable  as  the  horizon.  But  it  does 
not  cease  to  allure.  Therein  lies  its  power.  Attain- 
ment satisfies  us  and  we  cease  to  strive.  The  un- 
attained  always  attracts  us:  it  is  a  perpetual  chal- 
lenge. To  be  sure,  if  it  could  be  demonstrated  to 
our  satisfaction  that  it  was  not  only  unattained  but 
unattainable,  it  might  lose  its  charm.  But  the  ideal 
is  not  unattainable  in  that  absolute  sense.  We  can 
never  reach  it,  but  we  can  approach  it  as  nearly  as 
we  please.  Thus  we  are  attaining  all  the  time  with- 
out ever  having  attained,  and  the  ideal  retains  to  the 
end  its  wholesome  allurement. 

II.  Applying  this  theory  of  the  ideal  to  our  time- 
table we  find  that  it  will  be  enough  to  make  the 
amount  of  time  to  be  given  to  study  an  end,  and  not 
[391 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

an  ideal.  We  have  to  fix  a  number  of  hours  that  we 
know  to  be  within  our  power,  and  not  start  with  the 
intention  of  working  the  maximum  number  of  hours 
that  our  organism  will  stand.  But  though  the  num- 
ber of  hours  should  be  chosen  on  the  principle  of  the 
mere  end,  the  kind  of  work  done  during  these  hours 
will  give  ample  opportunity  for  the  operation  of  the 
ideal. 

In  determining  the  number  of  hours  to  be  included 
each  week  in  our  home  time-table,  various  things 
have  to  be  taken  into  account.  To  begin  with,  the 
number  of  hours  devoted  to  study  at  school  or  college 
will  have  a  determining  influence.  There  is  a  tradi- 
tional belief  that  an  eight  hours'  working  day  is  a 
reasonable  arrangement.  So  that  if  you  have  five 
hours'  work  at  school  there  should  remain  three 
hours  to  be  accounted  for  at  home.  But  if  you  have 
a  six  hours'  day  at  school  you  will  probably  find  that 
you  have  still  need  of  three  hours  at  home  to  keep 
up  with  your  class  work,  and  with  a  healthy  boy  or 
girl  a  nine  (or  even  a  ten)  hours'  day  is  not  danger- 
ous, though  it  certainly  means  strenuous  work.  The 
question  of  health  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  and 
if  your  parent  or  your  medical  attendant  tells  you 
that  a  nine  (or  ten)  hours'  day  is  injurious,  then,  of 
course,  you  must  accept  the  decision  and  make  your 
time-table  accordingly.  The  important  thing  is  to 
determine  the  total  amount  of  time  at  your  disposal 
for  home  study  and  make  the  best  use  of  that.  Other 
considerations  besides  health  must  be  taken  into  ac- 
[40] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

count.  There  are  some  social  duties  that  demand  a 
certain  amount  of  time — particularly  in  the  case  of 
girls.  But  this  claim  needs  to  be  carefully  scruti- 
nized. Some  young  people  are  only  too  ready  to 
take  a  very  serious  view  of  their  social  responsibili- 
ties, just  as  others  are  inclined  to  take  an  unduly 
pessimistic  view  of  the  effect  of  study  on  their  health. 
Your  conscience  and  your  doctor  must  decide  be- 
tween them  about  the  relation  between  work  and 
play,  while  your  parents  must  help  your  conscience 
to  determine  how  much  time  you  owe  to  society.  If 
you  are  entitled  to  wear  the  toga  virilis  and  are  still 
a  student,  you  will  be  well  advised  to  keep  society 
on  pretty  short  rations  in  the  matter  of  your  time. 

III.  With  regard  to  the  distribution  among  the 
various  subjects  of  your  whole  available  time  for 
home  study,  you  must  rely  upon  your  own  experience 
and  your  own  judgment.  It  is  well  known  that 
certain  subjects,  for  example,  Mathematics  and 
Latin  Prose,  are  more  difficult,  and  therefore  de- 
mand more  time  than  others.  Generally  speaking, 
therefore,  you  will  give  to  such  subjects  a  bigger 
share  of  your  time  than  to  others.  But  here  you 
must  take  account  of  your  own  special  capacity  and 
tastes.  It  may  be  that  you  are  specially  good  at 
mathematics  and  find  constitutional  history  much 
harder.  In  that  case  history  should  get  the  prefer- 
ence in  the  time-table.  Further,  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens that  though  you  are  not  good  at  a  certain  sub- 
ject you  may  have  been  a  longer  time  at  it  than  have 
[41] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

the  others  in  your  class,  and  thus  you  may  be  for  a 
term  or  two  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  the  class  in 
that  subject.  Clearly  you  could  afford,  in  such  a 
case,  to  cut  down  the  time  you  would  ordinarily 
give  to  that  subject  and  devote  it  to  some  others  in 
which  you  happen  to  be  weak. 

IV.  Having  determined  the  total  amount  of  time 
per  week  to  be  given  to  the  various  subjects,  you 
have  next  to  settle  in  what  order  these  subjects 
should  occur  on  your  time-table,  and  how  they 
should  be  distributed  throughout  the  week.  Here 
there  are  certain  general  principles  that  may  give 
you  some  help. 

(a)  The  more  difficult  subjects  should  always  be 
taken  when  the  mind  is  freshest.  This  is  usually  at 
the  beginning,  or  very  near  the  beginning,  of  a 
period  of  study.  Accordingly,  you  will  be  well  ad- 
vised to  put  at  those  times  the  subject  that  you  find 
most  difficulty  in  mastering.  But  this  principle 
should  be  taken  in  connexion  with  another.  It  some- 
times happens  that  you  dislike  some  subject,  though 
you  have  no  great  difficulty  in  dealing  with  it. 
Speaking  generally,  we  dislike  most  those  subjects 
that  are  for  us  the  most  difficult.  But  if  for  any 
reason  we  find  a  subject  easy  enough  in  a  way,  but 
unpleasant  for  us,  then  we  should  put  that  in  the 
forefront.  So  with  the  end  of  a  study  period.  That 
is  the  place  for  the  easiest  subjects,  but  if  there  is 
some  subject  that  we  find  hard  but  still  take  a  positive 
pleasure  in,  then  it  may  be  put  at  the  end,  where  it 
[42] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

stands  as  a  sort  of  inducement  to  get  at  it  by  working 
off  the  less  pleasant  matters  that  precede  it.  Further 
help  in  deciding  the  order  in  which  subjects  should 
be  studied  will  be  found  from  a  consideration  of 
what  will  be  said  about  fatigue  a  little  later. 

(b)  It  is  found  that  in  most  cases  the  oftener  a 
subject  is  taken  in  the  week  the  better  chance  it  has 
of  getting  justice.    Thus,  if  you  can  afford  only  two 
and  a  half  hours  per  week  to  a  given  subject,  say 
French,  this  time  might  be  divided  into  one  hour  on 
Monday,  half  an  hour  on  Wednesday,  and  one  hour 
on  Friday.     Or  the  time  might  be  divided  in  the 
simple  form  of  half  an  hour  every  day  for  five  days. 
This  latter  distribution  is  found  to  be  the  more 
profitable.     You  seem  to  learn  something  between 
lessons,  even  though  you  may  not  open  your  book 
from  one  lesson  to  another.  On  the  other  hand,  some 
subjects  require  a  certain  amount  of  preparation  of 
materials  for  each  lesson.     Thus  if  you  had  two 
hours  a  week  to  devote  to  drawing,  it  would  probably 
be  better  to  have  them  in  two  separate  hour-periods 
rather  than  in  four  half -hour-periods.     The  time 
spent  in  putting  out  and  putting  away  the  drawing 
materials  would  thus  be  lost  only  twice  a  week 
instead  of  four  times. 

(c)  While  the  hardest  subjects  should  generally 
come  first  and  the  easiest  last,  there  is  room  for  a 
certain  alternation  of  the   easy   and   the   difficult. 
After  a  very  hard  subject  a  very  easy  one  may  be 
well  used  as  a  sort  of  rest  after  the  strain.    Still  we 

[43] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

must  keep  in  view  what  we  have  said  under  (a)  on 
this  point.  But  whatever  may  be  done  in  the  way 
of  alternating  the  easy  and  the  difficult,  there  cer- 
tainly ought  to  be  an  alternation  according  to  the 
different  kinds  of  subjects.  Thus  algebra  should  be 
followed  by  something  quite  different,  say  French; 
history  might  be  followed  by  geometry,  and  geog- 
raphy by  composition.  It  is  obvious  that  this  prin- 
ciple of  alternation  might  be  quite  well  combined 
with  the  alternation  of  the  easy  and  the  difficult,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  repulsive  and  the  attractive. 

V.  One  great  danger  in  the  use  of  the  time-table 
is  rigidity.  It  is  difficult  to  finish  our  work  in  each 
subject  at  the  exact  moment  when  a  new  subject  is 
due.  To  obviate  this  difficulty  it  may  be  suggested 
that  a  small  period  of  say  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes 
should  be  set  apart  at  the  end  of  each  evening's  work 
as  a  sort  of  reserve  time  to  finish  off  any  little  thing 
we  may  have  been  forced  to  omit  in  any  of  the 
ordinary  periods.  But  this  plan  is  dangerous.  The 
recognition  of  a  fixed  emergency  time  gives  a  sort  of 
justification  for  not  quite  finishing  the  work  at  any 
period,  and  the  tendency  is  to  have  a  bad  balance  left 
over  from  every  period.  It  is  probably  better  to 
allow  an  occasional  extension  of  one  subject  into  the 
period  of  another.  This  is  very  bad,  no  doubt,  but 
the  important  thing  is  that  it  is  felt  to  be  bad  at  the 
time.  We  cannot  avoid  feeling  conscience-stricken 
when  we  know  that  we  are  favouring  one  subject  at 
the  expense  of  another.  All  subjects  may  claim  an 

[44] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

equal  right  in  the  reserve  period.  But  the  very  fact 
that  we  know  we  are  using  Geometry  time  for  French 
work  makes  us  uncomfortable,  and  therefore  drives 
us  to  avoid  such  incursions  unless  under  genuine 
stress  and  strain.  You  must  not  allow  pedantry  to 
stop  you  to  the  moment,  when  a  few  minutes  more 
might  produce  all  the  difference  between  complete 
and  incomplete  preparation;  but  if  you  cultivate  a 
tenderness  of  conscience  about  overlappings  you  will 
be  able  to  preserve  an  adherence  to  your  times  that 
is  intelligent  without  being  slavish.  If  your  con- 
science is  in  good  working  order  you  may  experi- 
ment with  a  reserve  period,  with  the  full  resolve  to 
use  it  as  seldom  as  possible  as  an  emergency  exten- 
sion for  any  one  subject,  and  as  often  as  possible  as 
a  revision  period  for  each  subject  in  turn.  If  you 
cannot  depend  on  your  conscience,  avoid  having  a 
reserve  period  in  your  time-table. 

At  the  present  time  a  great  deal  of  attention  is 
given  to  the  question  of  over-pressure  in  schools.  It 
is  probable  that  with  most  young  people  there  is 
more  danger  of  under-pressure  than  over-pressure. 
It  is  an  unwholesome  thing  to  be  continually  thinking 
about  one's  health,  and  it  is  not  desirable  to  encour- 
age young  people  to  think  that  their  main  business 
is  to  make  sure  that  they  do  not  do  too  much  work. 
All  the  same,  in  order  that  you  may  have  the  proper 
information  to  guide  you  in  managing  your  work,  it 
is  worth  while  telling  you  some  of  the  facts  that  have 

[45] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

come  out  in  the  many  investigations  that  have  re- 
cently been  made  into  the  nature  of  fatigue.  Some- 
times we  hear  of  mental  fatigue,  as  if  it  were 
different  from  other  kinds  of  fatigue.  But  it  would 
appear  that  the  effects  produced  by  mental  work  are 
very  much  the  same  as  those  produced  by  any  other 
kind  of  work. 

To  begin  with,  we  are  not  to  regard  fatigue  as 
something  to  be  avoided.  After  honest  work  we 
ought  to  be  fatigued.  What  we  should  be  afraid  of 
and  try  to  avoid  is  over- fatigue.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  two  may  be  said  to  be  that  over-fatigue 
demands  special  means  to  remove  it.  If  after  a  piece 
of  v/ork  you  are  tired  and,  as  you  are  apt  to  say, 
"worn  out,"  you  go  to  bed  and  have  a  good  sleep 
and  waken  up  refreshed,  you  have  been  merely 
normally  fatigued.  But  if  when  you  go  to  bed  you 
are,  as  we  sometimes  say,  too  tired  to  sleep,  or  if 
when  you  do  sleep  you  waken  up  still  tired,  and  the 
tiredness  hangs  about  you  all  the  next  day  and 
interferes  with  your  effectiveness  in  work,  then  you 
have  been  over- fatigued.  Again  a  warning  is  needed. 
You  must  not  be  always  on  the  look  out  for  symp- 
toms of  tiredness.  If  they  need  to  be  looked  for 
they  may  be  safely  neglected.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  are  those  who  find  the  symptoms  all  too  easily. 
These  are  they  of  whom  it  is  contemptuously  said, 
"they  were  born  tired." 

What  you  are  mainly  concerned  with  is  the  effect 

[46] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

of  fatigue  upon  your  work.  Now  it  is  worth  while 
noting  that  the  moment  you  start  upon  a  piece  of 
work  the  fatigue  effect  begins  to  set  in.  It  is  not 
noticeable  for  quite  a  long  while  and  does  not  make 
its  influence  felt  till  the  work  has  exhausted  a  certain 
amount  of  your  energy.  But  it  goes  on  increasing  in 
amount  and  tends  to  reduce  the  effectiveness  of  your 
efforts.  But  there  are  other  influences  at  work  at  the 
same  time.  There  is  first  what  is  called  the  practice 
effect,  which  represents  the  increased  skill  we  acquire 
in  doing  anything  by  the  very  practice  we  get  in 
doing  it.  Suppose  we  are  working  out  equations  in 
algebra,  we  acquire  by  practice  greater  ease  in 
manipulating  the  material  as  the  lesson  goes  on ;  and 
the  same  is  true  of  such  a  different  operation  as 
memorizing  the  irregularities  of  the  French  verb. 
The  other  force  at  work  produces  what  may  be  called 
the  "swing"  effect.  Apart  from  the  skill  we  attain 
by  practice  in  a  particular  operation,  we  acquire,  as 
we  go  along,  a  certain  swing  that  carries  us  on. 
This  is  what  we  mean  when  we  say  that  we  have 
wanned  up  to  our  work. 

Now  the  curious  thing  is  that  at  the  beginning  oi 
a  period  of  study  all  three  forces  start  work,  and  all 
three  effects  go  on  increasing  as  the  study  proceeds. 
But  at  first  the  fatigue  effect  makes  little  progress, 
while  the  practice  effect  and  the  swing  effect  progress 
rapidly.  By  and  by,  however,  the  practice  and  the 
swing  effects  reach  their  maximum  and  cannot  be- 
come greater,  while  the  fatigue  effect  steadily 
[47] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 


increases.  At  length  a  time  comes  when  the  fatigue 
effect  more  than  counterbalances  the  other  two  and 
the  effectiveness  of  study  begins  to  diminish.  It 
goes  on  diminishing  till  by  and  by  it  becomes  un- 
profitable to  carry  on  the  work. 

The  following  diagram  illustrates  what  takes  place 
in  a  period  of  two  hours'  work.    Beginning  at  A  the 


Q      LENOTH  OP  TIME  THE  TEST  LASTED!  IN  THIS  CASE  TWO  HOUB8. 

FATIGUE  CURVE. 

Reproduced  from  Binet  and  Henri's  La  Fatigue  Intellectuelle, 
by  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Schleicher  Freres,  Paris. 

§ 
effectiveness  of  the  work,  so  far  from  increasing 

rapidly,  begins  at  first  by  actually  decreasing.  This 
results  from  the  distraction  that  we  experience  at  the 
beginning  of  a  lesson.  We  are  busy  fighting  against 
all  the  other  interests  that  claim  our  attention.  But 
when  we  have  settled  our  account  with  the  matters 
that  occupied  our  minds  just  before  the  lesson  began, 
and  that  have  made  a  fight  for  their  place  in  our 
minds  before  they  finally  give  way  to  the  matters  we 
are  studying,  there  is  a  rapid  increase  in  the  effec- 
[48] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

tiveness  of  our  work,  owing  to  the  growing  practice 
and  swing  effects.  This  goes  on  up  to  C,  at  which 
point  the  fatigue  effect  is  able  just  to  counterbalance 
the  combined  forces  of  the  other  two.  After  that 
there  is  a  steady  fall  to  D.  In  the  ordinary  course 
this  fall  would  continue,  but  when  it  gets  close  to  the 
end  of  the  study  period  we  are  stimulated  a  little  by 
two  things.  First  there  is  the  prospect  of  a  speedy 
release  from  toil,  and  this  cheers  us  up.  Then  there 
is  the  working  of  our  conscience  that  tells  us  that 
our  time  is  now  very  short,  and  therefore  there  is 
the  more  need  for  effort.  The  result  is  a  little  spurt 
at  the  end,  which  has  been  compared  to  what  the  old 
postilions  used  to  call  "the  spurt  for  the  avenue," 
meaning  the  little  reserve  force  that  they  husbanded 
in  their  horses  during  a  long  journey  so  that  they 
might  make  a  creditable  appearance  as  they  drove 
up  to  the  door  of  the  grand  house. 

We  see,  then,  from  the  "curve  of  fatigue,"  as  the 
diagram  is  called,  that  there  is  always  a  loss  at  the 
beginning  of  a  new  lesson,  because  of  the  distraction 
and  because  the  practice  and  the  swing  effects  take  a 
little  time  to  make  themselves  felt.  In  consequence 
you  may  think  that  it  was  bad  advice  to  ask  you  to 
take  five  half-hour  lessons  rather  than  two  lessons  of 
an  hour  each  and  another  of  half  an  hour.  But 
there  is  an  interesting  fact  to  be  taken  into  account 
here.  The  swing  effect,  it  is  true,  is  lost  every  time 
we  give  up  a  lesson  and  resume  it  again  after  an 
interval.  But  the  practice  effect  is  carried  over  from 
[49] 


Making    the    Most    of    One's    Mind 

one  lesson  to  another.  Experiments  have  been  made 
to  determine  how  long  the  practice  effect  lasts,  and 
it  has  been  found  that  the  practice  effect  of  a  single 
hour's  work  was  preserved  and  carried  over  to  the 
morrow,  and  was  not  entirely  lost  even  after  a  lapse 
of  thirty-eight  to  forty-seven  hours.  Since  the 
fatigue  effect  very  rapidly  disappears,  we  have  thus 
a  great  advantage,  and  it  is  this  advantage  that 
makes  progress  possible.  Naturally  the  smaller  the 
interval  between  the  lessons  the  more  perfectly  is  the 
practice  effect  carried  forward.  Accordingly  it  is 
wiser  to  distribute  our  time  over  as  many  different 
study-periods  as  can  be  conveniently  arranged,  so 
long  as  they  are  not  too  short  to  secure  the  full 
benefit  of  both  the  swing  effect  and  the  practice 
effect. 

The  actual  length  of  the  study-period  to  be  de- 
voted to  each  subject  will  depend  upon  the  nature 
of  the  subject  and  the  nature  and  stage  of  advance- 
ment of  the  student.  In  schools  we  have  to  arrange 
matters  to  suit  groups,  and  all  we  can  do  is  to  get 
some  sort  of  average  and  do  the  best  we  can  with 
that.  With  the  advanced  classes  the  ordinary 
periods  are  40  min.,  45  min.  and  50  min.  With 
younger  classes  the  period  is  usually  much  smaller. 
In  order  to  get  some  sort  of  general  rule  that  will 
suit  all  cases  it  has  been  suggested  that  the  following 
sliding  scale  might  be  adopted  with  advantage: 

Multiply  the  number  of  years  in  the  pupil's  age  by 
"two,  and  the  result  will  give  you  the  number  of 
[50] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

minutes  that  forms  the  suitable  lesson-period  for 
that  pupil." 

In  your  own  case  you  will  probably  find  that 
forty  minutes  forms  a  very  suitable  average  period 
of  study  for  a  subject.  A  few  subjects  may  be 
satisfied  with  thirty  minutes,  and  some  will  demand 
a  whole  hour.  But  if  you  are  not  trammelled  by 
school  or  college  conditions,  you  may  quite  wisely 
exercise  a  fair  amount  of  freedom  in  your  arrange- 
ments. You  may,  for  example,  adopt  what  is  called 
the  intensive  method  and  concentrate  on  your  sub- 
jects one  after  the  other.  Thus  mathematics  in  its 
different  branches  might  monopolize  a  whole  evening 
three  times  a  week  for  a  month,  the  other  subjects 
having  to  content  themselves  with  short  commons  till 
their  turn  came  for  intensive  treatment.  Some 
students  find  this  method  works  extremely  well,  but 
it  should  always  be  used  with  the  safeguard  that  you 
take  a  wide  sweep  in  your  plan  of  campaign  and 
secure  that  there  is  a  real  periodicity  in  the  intensive 
study.  That  is,  you  would  take  the  year  as  the  unit, 
so  that  each  subject  would  have  a  chance  of  getting 
its  turn  say  three  or  four  times  a  year.  If  a  shorter 
period  is  taken,  you  will  find  yourself  inclined  to 
stop  the  system  just  when  a  disagreeable  subject  is 
going  to  have  its  innings.  Further,  this  intensive 
plan  should  be  limited  to  the  major  subjects.  Cer- 
tain of  the  minor  subjects  should  get  uniform 
attention  all  the  way  through. 

It  seems  only  natural  to  expect  that  the  various 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

subjects  of  study  should  have  different  fatigue- 
producing  effects.  Some  demand  much  harder  work 
than  others.  In  point  of  fact,  experiments  have 
been  made,  the  results  of  which  have  led  to  the 
following  classification,  in  which  100  is  accepted  as 
the  maximum  power  of  producing  fatigue: 

Mathematics  100 

Latin    91 

Greek   90 

Gymnastics    90 

History    85 

Geography 85 

Arithmetic 82 

French    82 

German  (the  mother  tongue)   82 

Nature   Study    80 

Drawing    77 

Religion    77 

This  table  is  the  outcome  of  the  experiments  of  a 
German  called  Wagner,  but  the  results  do  not  quite 
agree  with  those  of  another  experimenter  called 
Kemsies,  who  puts  the  subjects  in  the  following 
order,  according  to  their  fatigue-producing  power : 

1.  Gymnastics. 

2.  Mathematics. 

3.  Foreign  Languages. 

4.  Religion. 

5.  German   (mother  tongue). 

6.  Nature  Study  and  Geography. 

7.  History. 

8.  Singing  and  Drawing. 

We  need  not  be  surprised  that  these  two  tables  do 
not  agree.     There  are  so  many  things  to  be  taken 
[52] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

into  account  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  get  accu- 
rate results.  For  one  thing,  the  kind  of  teacher 
makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  There  are 
easy-going  teachers  of  mathematics  who  do  not  take 
much  out  of  their  pupils,  and  there  are  strict  teachers 
of  drawing  who  send  their  classes  away  much  more 
fatigued  than  those  from  the  laxer  teachers  of  harder 
subjects.  For  you  the  most  important  source  of 
probable  error  in  estimating  the  fatigue-producing 
power  of  subjects  is  the  confusion  between  two  quite 
different  things.  We  are  very  apt  to  think  that  we 
are  fatigued  when  we  are  only  bored.  Ennui  or 
boredom  comes  upon  us  when  we  cannot  get  up 
sufficient  interest  in  what  we  are  doing.  We  may  be 
quite  fresh  and  ready  for  any  amount  of  work  at 
other  things,  but  not  at  this  particular  thing  that 
disgusts  us.  It  is  in  cases  like  this  that  a  change  of 
subject  is  as  good  as  a  rest.  If  we  are  really  fatigued 
the  only  remedy  is  to  rest,  but  if  we  are  merely  bored 
we  may  obtain  relief  by  turning  to  something  else 
for  a  while  and  then  coming  back  to  the  tiresome 
subject. 

You  must  not,  however,  too  readily  resort  to  this 
change  of  subject.  If  you  are  sure  that  it  is  a  matter 
of  being  bored  and  not  of  being  really  fatigued,  you 
must  be  very  careful  not  to  yield  too  easily  to  the 
desire  for  change.  To  give  up  as  soon  as  you  are  a 
little  bored  is  contemptible.  You  must  face  the  un- 
interesting in  order  to  attain  to  something  else  that 
is  interesting.  The  encouraging  thing  is  that  if  we 

[53] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

do  apply  ourselves  to  what  has  no  attraction  for  us 
we  gradually  acquire  a  sort  of  pleasure  in  the  work. 
If  this  were  not  so,  it  would  be  necessary  to  give  up 
certain  kinds  of  work  altogether,  since  the  mind 
finds  it  impossible  to  attend  by  mere  force  of  will  to 
any  subject  in  which  no  interest  whatever  can  be 
aroused.  To  the  earnest  student,  however,  there  are 
no  such  subjects.  There  is  always  a  way  of  connect- 
ing the  dry  subject,  somehow  or  other,  with  matter 
that  really  does  interest  us.  No  doubt  it  would  be  a 
mistake  to  confine  yourself  for  long  periods  to  these 
specially  uninteresting  subjects,  and  your  purpose 
will  be  served  if  you  give  them  their  fair  share  of 
attention  and  do  not  surrender  at  the  first  appearance 
of  boredom. 

A  somewhat  similar  problem  arises  in  connexion 
with  genuine  fatigue.  It  may  be  asked :  Is  it  pos- 
sible to  do  effective  work  when  we  are  fatigued? 
It  appears  that  it  is  possible.  Suppose  that  the 
student  works  on  till  his  usual  time  for  going  to  bed. 
He  is  worn  out  and  quite  ready  to  fall  asleep.  But 
for  some  reason  or  other  it  is  imperative  that  a  cer- 
tain piece  of  work  should  be  done  that  night.  The 
student  goes  doggedly  on,  determined  to  finish  his 
work  in  spite  of  his  weariness.  By  and  by  a  curious 
thing  happens.  The  drowsiness  passes  away,  the 
mind  becomes  clear  again,  and  indeed  appears  to  be 
clearer  than  usual.  This  renewed  vigour  is  some- 
times called  "mental  second  wind,"  and  investiga- 
tions have  been  made  to  find  out  whether  the  work 
[54] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

done  under  its  influence  is  really  good,  whether,  in 
fact,  it  stands  the  test  of  "next  morning."  The  con- 
clusion reached  by  those  who  have  looked  into  the 
matter  is  that  in  most  cases  the  work  done  under 
these  unusual  conditions  is  quite  good.  But  the 
report  is  not  so  favourable  when  we  come  to  con- 
sider the  effect  upon  the  mind  of  the  student.  His 
work  may  not  suffer,  but  he  does.  The  essay  he 
produces  may  be  an  excellent  essay,  but  it  has  cost 
more  than  usual.  This  mental  second  wind  is  an 
unwholesome  thing.  It  appears  that  drowsiness  and 
the  other  symptoms  of  fatigue  are  nature's  warning 
that  rest  is  needed.  If  the  warning  is  neglected 
nature  removes  the  symptoms  and  allows  the  work  to 
go  on,  but  at  the  price  that  she  always  demands  from 
people  who  work  under  pathological  conditions.  In- 
vestigation seems  to  show  that  when  we  are  what  we 
usually  call  fatigued,  we  are  not  exhausted.  We 
have  reserves  of  energy  upon  which  we  can  draw. 
This  is  a  beneficent  arrangement  of  nature  to  meet 
the  emergencies  of  life,  and  occasions  sometimes 
arise  on  which  it  is  justifiable  to  call  out  our  reserves 
to  meet  special  needs.  But  the  student  must  realize 
that  it  is  a  dangerous  business  using  emergency 
means  in  ordinary  circumstances.  So  it  is  well  to 
avoid  falling  back  upon  our  mental  second  wind 
unless  there  is  some  genuine  need  for  it. 

So  far  it  has  been  taken  for  granted  that  the 
student  is  connected  with  some  school  or  college,  and 
that  accordingly  his  work  as  a  whole  has  been 

[55] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

planned  out  by  some  one  else.  But  it  may  quite 
well  happen  that  you  who  are  reading  this  are  what 
is  called  a  private  student.  You  may  be  conducting 
your  studies  entirely  on  your  own  responsibility, 
and  therefore  in  need  of  some  little  guidance  on  the 
planning  out  of  your  work  as  a  whole.  Now  in 
approaching  a  new  subject  there  are  two  main  ways 
of  arranging  your  work.  One  may  be  called  the 
Method  of  Complete  Detail,  the  other  the  Rapid 
Impression  Method.  The  first  proceeds  on  the  good 
old-fashioned  way  of  dealing  in  full  detail  with 
everything  as  it  comes,  and  mastering  each  part  of 
the  subject  in  its  due  order  and  in  all  its  parts.  In 
the  second  the  student  takes  a  scamper  over  the 
whole  ground  as  rapidly  as  possible,  in  order  to  get  a 
general  idea  of  what  it  is  all  about,  and  then  by  and 
by  goes  over  the  same  ground  in  greater  and  greater 
detail.  Each  method  has  its  advantages  and  its 
dangers.  The  Method  of  Complete  Detail  commends 
itself  to  those  who  are  greatly  attracted  by  the  ordi- 
nary ideal  of  thoroughness.  It  seems  the  natural 
thing  to  begin  at  the  beginning  and  go  right  on.  But 
it  is  not  always  a  very  intelligent  way  of  approach- 
ing a  subject.  The  student  sometimes  is  put  into 
such  a  position  that  he  cannot  see  the  wood  for  the 
trees.  His  attention  is  so  much  occupied  with  details 
that  he  is  unable  to  form  any  general  idea  of  what  it 
is  all  about.  It  is  sometimes  months  after  he  has 
begun  a  study  that  a  glimmering  of  what  it  all  means 
dawns  upon  him.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Rapid 
[56] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

Impression  Method  is  very  attractive  to  the  quick- 
witted, keen,  easily  interested  student,  who  gallops 
with  great  joy  through  the  whole  subject,  gathering 
interest  as  he  goes.  When  it  is  necessary,  however, 
to  begin  to  go  over  the  matter  again  in  greater  detail 
this  type  of  student  is  apt  to  flag. 

You  will  see  that  in  a  general  way  the  detailed 
method  attracts  those  of  hard  wits,  while  the  quick- 
witted probably  prefer  the  Rapid  Impression  Method. 
You  must  accordingly  consider  to  which  of  the  two 
classes  you  belong  and  face  the  problem  with  a 
knowledge  of  your  bias.  You  will  doubtless  have 
no  difficulty  in  making  up  your  mind  which  way 
your  inclinations  turn;  but  you  must  decide  for 
yourself  which  of  the  two  methods  is  most  likely  to 
be  advantageous  to  you,  being  the  person  you  are  and 
in  the  circumstances  in  which  you  find  yourself. 
You  will  almost  certainly  feel  that  there  is  a  rather 
close  balancing  of  advantages  and  disadvantages 
between  the  two  methods,  and  you  will  be  inclined 
to  make  some  sort  of  compromise  method  of  your 
own  so  as  to  combine  the  advantages  of  both ;  and  in 
this  you  will  be  wise.  For  what  such  a  compromise 
means  is  that  you  have  made  a  special  application  of 
certain  general  principles  in  such  a  way  as  to  meet 
circumstances  as  they  exist  here  and  now. 

To  begin  with,  if  this  is  the  first  occasion  on  which 
you  seek  to  make  an  application  of  your  knowledge 
of  how  you  stand  in  relation  to  the  two  kinds  of  wit, 
you  will  probably  find  that  you  are  not  quite  sure 

[57] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

whether  your  wit  is  hard  or  quick.  In  some  subjects 
you  seem  to  belong  to  the  quick  wits  and  in  others  to 
the  hard.  You  will  be  wise  then,  in  taking  the  nature 
of  the  subject  into  account  in  classifying  your 
powers,  and  you  cannot  go  far  wrong  in  making 
your  compromise  between  the  two  methods  depend 
upon  the  nature  of  your  own  temperament.  If  you 
feel  yourself  to  be  too  quick-witted,  too  motor,  too 
ready  to  jump  to  conclusions,  too  easily  bored  with 
detail,  you  will  be  well  advised  to  give  your  studies  a 
bias  towards  the  Complete  Detail  Method.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  you  were  inclined  at  school  to  depend 
entirely  on  the  directions  of  your  teachers,  to  take 
each  day's  work  for  granted,  to  regard  everything, 
in  fact,  as  "all  in  the  day's  work,"  then  a  bias  towards 
the  other  method  will  be  to  your  advantage.  The 
ordinary  workaday  student,  the  person  who  takes  no 
responsibility  for  the  results  of  his  work,  the  sort  of 
student,  in  short,  who  is  not  in  the  least  likely  to  read 
a  book  like  the  present,  is  the  person  who  stands 
most  in  need  of  the  Rapid  Impression  Method.  But 
after  all,  were  it  not  for  the  danger  of  appearing  to 
under-estimate  the  value  of  thoroughness,  it  would 
be  safe  to  ask  all  students  to  give  their  work  a  bias 
towards  Rapid  Impressionism.  The  really  earnest 
student  may  be  trusted  not  to  misunderstand  or  mis- 
use the  more  attractive  method,  but  he  must  be 
warned  to  lose  no  opportunity  of  stiffening  his  will- 
power by  applying  himself  to  the  less  attractive 
details. 

[58] 


CHAPTER  III 


MANIPULATION  OF  THE  MEMORY 

NO  apology  is  necessary  for  giving  to  memory 
a  chapter  all  to  itself.  It  is  recognized  as 
one  of  the  fundamental  qualities  of  human  nature 
and  the  basis  of  our  self-identity.  Without  memory 
our  individual  existence  would  lose  all  meaning.  We 
know  that  we  are  the  same  persons  that  we  were 
last  year,  because  we  remember  the  experience  we 
then  had.  Memory  bridges  over  the  gulf  of  time 
and  convinces  us  of  the  continuity  of  our  own 
personality. 

But  while  this  is  true  for  people  in  general,  for 
the  student  the  memory  has  a  rather  special  signifi- 
cance. It  has  to  do  with  the  retention  of  knowledge, 
which  is  the  student's  special  business.  We  can  all 
acquire,  at  any  given  time,  a  mastery  over  certain 
facts,  but  if  we  are  unable  to  retain  that  mastery  our 
labour  in  acquiring  it  is  wasted.  Students  are  only 
too  willing  to  admit  the  weakness  of  their  memory 
and  to  lay  to  that  score  a  great  many  of  their  failures. 
Now  it  has  to  be  admitted  that  much  depends  upon 
[59] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

the  quality  of  the  memory  with  which  each  student 
starts.  A  memory  that  retains  well  and  reproduces 
easily  is  certainly  a  great  advantage  to  a  student.  It 
is  idle  to  say  that  "mere  memory"  is  in  itself  some- 
thing rather  contemptible.  There  is  a  popular  im- 
pression that  intellect  and  memory  do  not,  as  a  rule, 
go  together,  that  the  man  who  has  really  good  brain 
power  is  usually  indifferently  gifted  in  the  matter 
of  mere  memory.  But  experience  does  not  bear  this 
out.  There  are  people,  to  be  sure,  who  have  great 
power  of  memory  and  little  power  of  thinking. 
These,  by  depending  entirely  upon  their  memory, 
sometimes  bring  the  memory  into  disrepute.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  people  of  great  intellectual  power 
who  have  also  excellent  memories  are  those  who  rise 
to  the  highest  levels.  Both  qualities  are  needed  to 
make  a  really  efficient  student.  It  is  sometimes  said 
that  a  man  may  have  too  good  a  memory.  When 
he  wishes  to  recall  something  that  he  wants,  his 
memory  shoots  out  before  him  all  manner  of  things 
that  he  does  not  want  along  with  the  one  thing  that 
he  does  want,  so  that  he  is  confused  with  the  richness 
of  the  store.  But  this  does  not  imply  that  the  man's 
memory  is  too  good,  but  only  that  it  is  not  properly 
managed.  The  natural  quality  of  the  memory  is 
one  thing,  the  management  of  the  memory  is  another. 
Of  the  two,  the  management  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  student.  The  natural  quality  he  must  take  as 
something  given,  something  that  cannot  be  changed. 
You  are  probably  surprised  to  hear  this,  as  you  have 
[60] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

no  doubt  heard  and  read  a  great  deal  about  the 
improvement  of  the  memory.  Psychologists  are  not 
yet  quite  agreed  about  the  matter,  but  you  will  find 
that  the  balance  of  opinion  is  entirely  against  the 
possibility  of  improving  the  original,  or  what  may 
be  called  the  "brute,"  memory.  We  are  born  into 
the  world  with  a  memory  of  a  certain  degree  of 
retentiveness  and  power  of  recall.  And  with  that 
memory  we  must  go  through  the  world,  making  the 
best  use  of  it  that  we  can.  We  may  use  it  wisely  or 
foolishly — and  for  this  we  are  responsible — but  we 
have  only  that  one  memory  to  use,  we  cannot  im- 
prove its  intrinsic  quality.  It  is  true  that  we  can  do 
something  even  on  the  physical  side  to  keep  the 
memory  at  its  best.  Wholesome  living  has  a  great 
deal  to  do  with  the  working  of  the  memory.  Over- 
work, overfeeding,  overdrinking,  indulgence  of 
every  kind,  all  have  a  marked  effect  on  the  brute 
memory.  Even  young  people  notice  how  badly  the 
memory  works  when  they  are  fatigued,  and  experi- 
ence proves  that  certain  diseases  resulting  from  ex- 
cess show  their  beginnings  by  a  gradual  weakening 
of  the  brute  memory.  The  one  way  that  you  can 
get  at  this  brute  memory  so  as  to  keep  it  at  its  best 
is  by  sensible  and  cleanly  living. 

But  though  we  cannot  improve  the  brute  memory, 
we  may  greatly  increase  its  effectiveness  by  manipu- 
lating it  properly.  To  do  this  it  is  necessary  to 
examine  what  sort  of  memory  we  have  got,  and  to 
discover  how  we  may  best  use  it.  In  order  that  we 
[61] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

may  remember  something,  we  must  impress  it  upon 
our  minds  with  a  certain  degree  of  force.  Some 
minds  require  a  good  deal  of  force,  others  require 
very  little.  The  less  initial  force  required  the  better 
the  memory  is  said  to  be.  Suppose  you  and  a  friend 
test  yourselves  by  trying  how  often  each  of  you 
must  read  over  a  little  poem  before  you  are  able  to 
reproduce  it  perfectly  by  memory.  It  may  be  that 
by  reading  it  over  say  four  times  you  have  mastered 
it,  while  your  friend  has  to  read  it  over  twelve  times 
before  he  succeeds.  In  that  case  your  memories 
stand  to  one  another  in  the  ratio  of  four  to  twelve: 
this  means  that  your  friend  requires  three  times  as 
much  initial  force  as  you  do  in  order  to  master  the 
poem.  Your  memory,  in  fact,  may  be  said  to  be 
three  times  as  good  as  his.  If  you  like  to  put  it  in 
that  way,  his  index  of  memory  is  one  while  your 
index  is  three.  Teachers  are  now  beginning  to  look 
into  this  matter,  and  in  the  future  they  will  probably 
all  arrange  for  giving  an  index  for  every  pupil  in  a 
class.  The  boy  with  the  poorest  memory  will  have 
the  index  one,  the  boy  with  the  best  memory  the 
index  ten,  and  all  the  rest  will  be  arranged  some- 
where between,  so  that  every  pupil  in  the  class  will 
know  'his  actual  rank  with  regard  to  memory — or 
at  anyrate  the  teacher  will,  for  he  may  not  consider 
it  wise  to  share  his  knowledge  with  the  pupils, 
especially  at  early  stages.  In  the  higher  classes,  no 
doubt,  it  is  well  that  the  pupils  should  know  their 
own  indexes. 

[62] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

But  your  investigation  of  your  own  memory  is 
not  yet  complete.  You  must  not  forget  that  though 
it  has  cost  your  friend  three  times  as  much  effort 
as  you,  the  result  in  his  case  is  the  same  as  in  yours. 
You  have  both  mastered  the  poem.  You  have  both 
the  same  possession,  though  you  have  bought  it  at 
different  rates.  To  this  extent  you  have  a  distinct 
advantage  as  a  student  over  your  friend.  But  there 
is  another  test  to  be  made.  Next  morning,  let  both 
of  you  try  to  repeat  the  poem  and  note  how  many 
mistakes  each  of  you  makes.  Do  the  same  thing 
three  days  later,  then  a  week  later,  then  a  month 
later,  then  three  months  later.  It  may  come  out  that 
though  you  learnt  the  poem  three  times  more  easily 
than  your  friend,  he  may  remember  it  accurately 
twice  as  long.  You  will,  of  course,  see  that  we  can- 
not have  very  exact  results  in  a  case  like  this.  When 
we  say  that  you  forget  twice  as  much  as  your  friend 
we  must  be  understood  to  speak  in  a  rather  general 
way.  What  we  are  doing  is  to  establish  a  rough  and 
ready  index  of  forgetfulness  or  obliviscence.  In 
this  case  your  index  of  obliviscence  would  be  two 
to  your  friend's  one.  So  that  in  estimating  the 
index  of  really  efficient  memory  you  would  not  rank 
very  much  above  your  friend,  for  your  greater  ease 
of  learning  would  be  balanced  by  his  power  of  re- 
taining longer  an  accurate  knowledge  of  what  he 
had  learned.  All  these  things  will  be  kept  in  view 
by  the  teacher  in  the  future  when  he  is  estimating 
the  powers  of  his  pupils,  and  he  may  either  have 
[63] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

two  indexes  for  each  pupil,  an  index  of  quickness 
of  learning  and  an  index  of  obliviscence,  or  he  may 
amalgamate  the  two  and  find  a  composite  index  of 
memory  "efficiency." 

But  suppose  now  that  you  surpass  your  friend  in 
both  ease  of  acquiring  and  power  of  retaining  accu- 
rately, you  have  that  permanent  advantage  over  him 
as  a  student.  Suppose,  further,  that  you  and  he  do 
exactly  the  same  kind  of  work  and  put  out  exactly 
the  same  amount  of  energy  in  the  same  way  for  ten 
years,  then  at  the  end  of  that  period  you  will  almost 
certainly  stand  in  the  same  relative  position  to  one 
another,  so  far  as  the  natural  power  of  memory  is 
concerned.  You  will  still  retain  your  initial  advan- 
tage: your  index  of  memory  will  remain  the  same 
in  relation  to  his.  No  doubt  you  will  have  acquired 
more  knowledge  than  he  during  the  ten  years,  but 
that  is  beside  the  present  point. 

If,  however,  during  these  ten  years  you  rely  upon 
your  superior  natural  gifts,  while  your  friend,  realiz- 
ing his  disadvantage,  puts  extra  energy  into  his 
work  and  uses  his  poorer  memory  energetically  and 
skilfully,  and  seeks  out  the  best  ways  of  manipulating 
it,  the  result  at  the  end  of  the  ten  years  may  well  be 
that  he  can  use  his  memory  so  as  to  produce  results 
as  easily  and  as  quickly  as  you.  But  this  does  not 
mean  that  his  brute  memory  has  been  improved,  but 
only  that  he  has  learnt  to  use  it  in  a  more  skilful  way, 
and  in  particular  to  apply  it  more  effectively  in  con- 
nexion with  certain  definite  kinds  of  facts. 
[64] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

This  last  point  is  of  special  importance,  for  ex- 
perience shows  that  improvement  in  the  memory 
is  always  improvement  in  a  certain  direction,  that 
is,  in  connexion  with  a  particular  kind  of  matter. 
Indeed,  it  is  sometimes  said  that  we  have  all  excel- 
lent memories  for  something  or  other.  School- 
masters are  well  aware  that  the  boy  who  cannot 
anchor  the  battle  of  Marathon  to  any  fixed  date, 
has  no  difficulty  in  reeling  off  an  interminable  list 
of  "football  fixtures"  for  the  coming  season.  The 
girl  who  can  never  be  sure  whether  Bombay  is  on 
the  east  or  on  the  west  coast  of  India,  will  remember 
in  the  minutest  detail  the  position  of  a  ribbon  on  a 
hat  that  she  saw  weeks  ago  in  a  shop  window.  This 
does  not  mean  that  we  have  different  kinds  of  mem- 
ories— a  football  memory  and  a  history  memory, 
a  millinery  memory  and  a  geography  memory — but 
merely  that  we  remember  different  kinds  of  things 
with  different  degrees  of  ease  and  accuracy.  The 
natural  interest  of  a  boy  in  football  is  replaced  in 
the  future  by  the  acquired  interest  in  the  affairs  of 
his  business  or  his  profession.  He  can,  in  adult  life, 
remember  business  matters  even  though  his  memory 
for  other  things  is  very  bad.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he 
can  remember  business  things  only  in  connexion 
with  business.  A  psychologist  gives  a  case,  for 
example,  in  which  a  ticket-clerk  could  remember  all 
about  fares  and  distances  and  connexions  while  he 
was  in  his  little  office,  but  the  moment  he  left  it  he 
could  give  no  reliable  information  even  about  his 
[65] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

own  line.  Memory  improvement  nearly  always 
means  improvement  in  dealing  with  a  particular  class 
of  facts. 

The  minimum  initial  force  necessary  to  impress 
something  on  the  mind  so  as  to  secure  its  retention 
may  be  applied  all  at  one  time,  or  it  may  be  applied 
at  different  times  by  instalments.  Suppose  we  had 
a  standard  unit  of  force,  say  one  second  of  the  most 
intense  attention  of  which  we  are  capable,  and  that 
ten  of  these  units  were  necessary  to  commit  a  par- 
ticular fact  to  memory.  Then  we  might  either  give 
the  ten  seconds  consecutively,  or  in  separate  instal- 
ments. Thus  we  might  give  ten  separate  seconds 
with  an  interval  between  each,  or  five  periods  of  two 
seconds  with  an  interval  between  each  period.  The 
intervals  may  be  long  or  short,  so  that  quite  a  number 
of  considerations  claim  attention.  The  important 
question  is,  which  is  the  better  way  of  learning,  the 
condensed  application  or  the  instalment  system? 
Often  we  have  no  choice.  Certain  matters  must  be 
committed  to  the  memory  at  once,  or  our  chance  is 
for  ever  gone.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are 
occasions  when  we  do  have  the  choice  between  the 
two  methods,  and  our  general  principle  should  be 
that  in  cases  of  small  portions  of  subject-matter  the 
condensed  form  is  the  better,  whereas  when  we  have 
to  face  a  longish  bit  of  work  the  instalment  system 
is  more  profitable.  What  we  considered  already  in 
connexion  with  the  distribution  of  your  time  among 
your  various  subjects  applies  here.  You  have  all 
[66] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

the  advantage  of  unconscious  cerebration  between 
the  different  instalments.  It  is  true  that  we  have 
here  certain  considerations  that  do  not  apply  to  the 
same  degree  in  the  process  of  learning  as  opposed  to 
remembering.  We  have  to  realize  that  the  rate  at 
which  we  forget  has  to  be  taken  into  account.  If  we 
have  a  high  "index  of  obliviscence"  then  it  may  be 
less  advisable  for  us  to  adopt  the  instalment  system. 
We  may  lose  so  much  between  the  instalments  as  to 
cause  an  unprofitable  amount  of  relearning.  If  your 
obliviscence  index  is  small,  you  are  safe  to  adopt  the 
instalment  system.  If  it  is  large,  you  have  to  choose 
between  avoiding  the  instalment  system  altogether, 
and  adopting  it  with  the  modification  that  there  must 
be  the  smallest  practicable  interval  between  each 
instalment.  The  latter  alternative  must  be  adopted 
in  all  cases  where,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  the 
concentrated  method  cannot  be  applied.  Such  cases 
are  continually  occurring,  since  many  things  have  to 
be  committed  to  memory  that  are  so  complicated  that 
they  cannot  be  all  mastered  at  one  sitting. 

The  use  of  the  phrase  "committing  to  memory" 
is  apt  to  be  confusing,  as  it  has  at  least  the  suggestion 
of  that  kind  of  memory  work  known  as  learning  by 
rote.  This  means  getting  into  the  memory  a  form 
of  words  without  paying  any  attention  to  the  mean- 
ing. Sometimes  a  distinction  is  drawn  between 
learning  by  heart  and  learning  by  rote.  As  a  rule 
the  terms  are  used  interchangeably,  but,  if  they  must 
be  distinguished,  learning  by  heart  may  be  said  to 
[67] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

be  learning  a  subject  in  such  a  way  that  it  becomes 
a  part  of  our  very  self.  We  deal  with  the  matter  so 
thoroughly  that  we  actually  assimilate  it.  Rote- 
learning,  on  the  other  hand,  may  be  limited  to  the 
mere  parrot-like  repetition  of  a  form  of  words,  so 
as  to  commit  them  to  the  brute  memory  without  any 
thought  of  their  meaning.  For  example,  in  learning 
the  multiplication  table,  a  child  may  sing  the  tables 
up  and  down  so  as  to  be  able  to  repeat  them  either 
upwards  or  downwards,  and  yet  be  unable  to  use 
the  tables  unless  by  repeating  each  table  till  the  ap- 
propriate number  is  reached.  This  would  be  learn- 
ing by  rote.  On  the  other  hand,  the  pupil  may  be  so 
practised  by  the  teacher  in  giving  at  once  various 
products,  such  as  four  times  eight,  nine  times  seven, 
eleven  times  twelve,  that  he  is  able  at  a  moment's 
notice  to  give  any  product  in  the  table.  In  this  case 
he  may  be  said  to  know  the  table  by  heart.  If  there 
be  any  distinction,  the  advantage  in  such  matters 
clearly  lies  with  learning  by  heart.  But  it  is  usual 
to  use  the  terms  interchangeably. 

In  former  times  so  much  was  done  in  schools  by 
means  of  mere  rote  work  that  it  is  not  wonderful 
that  there  is  at  present  a  great  feeling  against  it. 
One  of  the  earliest  protests  is  to  be  found  in  Mon- 
taigne, who  tells  us  that  "To  know  by  heart  is  not 
to  know."  As  you  will  see,  this  statement  is  am- 
biguous. The  two  possible  meanings  are:  (a)  The 
fact  that  you  know  a  thing  by  heart  does  not  neces- 
sarily imply  that  you  really  know  it.  (b)  The  very 
[68] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

fact  that  you  know  a  thing  by  heart  shows  that  you 
do  not  know  it.  The  first  meaning  is  certainly  the 
only  justifiable  one.  It  is  nonsense  to  maintain  be- 
cause we  know,  say,  a  poem  by  heart  that  therefore 
we  do  not  understand  it.  In  fact,  there  is  a  definite 
place  for  learning  by  heart.  A  person  who  learns 
by  heart  a  proposition  in  geometry  is  not  only  wast- 
ing his  time  but  is  injuring  his  chances  of  doing 
genuine  thinking.  The  pupil's  own  form  of  stating 
the  proposition  is  preferable  to  that  of  anyone  else, 
since  it  secures  the  activity  of  the  pupil's  mind.  But 
in  the  case  of  anything  in  which  the  form  is  of  the 
very  essence  of  the  business  in  hand,  then  learning 
by  rote  is  both  justifiable  and  desirable.  A  great 
part  of  the  charm  of  a  poem  is  the  beauty  of  the 
actual  expression.  There  is  nothing  more  irritating 
than  to  hear  some  one  praising  a  poem  and  giving 
scrappy,  inaccurate  renderings  of  a  beautiful  passage, 
interspersed  with  crude  prose  paraphrases  to  fill  up 
what  the  speaker  cannot  remember  in  the  poet's 
words.  A  poem  should  be  either  quoted  verbatim 
or  merely  described.  Even  "rules"  are  sometimes 
worthy  to  be  learnt  by  heart.  But  here  we  must  be 
very  careful.  It  is  always  wrong  to  begin  by  learn- 
ing a  rule  and  then  go  about  applying  it.  But  in  the 
course  of  your  studies  you  will  be  set  frequently  by 
your  teacher  to  work  out  certain  problems,  and  as 
you  work  them  you  will  gradually  see  the  under- 
lying principle  on  which  you  proceed.  By  and  by 
your  teacher  will  invite  you  to  set  out  the  principle. 
[69] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

This  is  really  an  invitation  for  you  to  formulate  a 
rule.  Your  formulation  may  be  excellent,  but 
frequently  it  will  be  found  to  be  faulty,  and  the 
teacher  will  present  you  with  a  carefully  thought-out 
and  precisely  expressed  rule.  This  it  is  often  desir- 
able to  memorize,  since  it  expresses  in  the  clearest 
and  most  exact  way  a  truth  that  you  have  thoroughly 
grasped.  It  is  profitable,  then,  to  memorize  rules 
for  which  you  have  honestly  worked. 

Since  there  are  occasions  on  which  it  is  desirable 
to  learn  things  by  heart,  it  is  worth  while  consider- 
ing the  best  way  of  setting  about  the  business.  To 
begin  with,  we  must  give  up  the  notion  that  we  are 
to  work  in  the  unintelligent  way  that  the  definition 
of  rotework  implies.  So  far  from  it  being  desirable 
that  we  should  not  think  of  the  subject-matter,  we 
ought  to  keep  prominently  before  us  the  meaning  of 
what  we  are  learning.  If  we  are  dealing  with  a 
mere  rule,  or  a  mere  bit  of  grammatical  accidence, 
there  is  no  difficulty.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  concen- 
tration of  attention.  But  when  we  approach  a  work 
of  greater  length  a  very  definite  problem  arises,  the 
problem  of  the  unit  of  memorizing.  In  learning  a 
poem,  for  example,  of  the  length  of  Milton's 
L 'Allegro  or  Gray's  Elegy,  almost  no  one  could 
master  it  at  a  sitting.  The  work  has  accordingly  to 
be  divided  up  into  sections,  and  the  problem  arises 
of  the  principle  on  which  the  division  should  be 
made.  The  length  of  each  section  can  be  determined 
only  in  view  of  the  time  at  your  disposal  on  each 
[70] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

occasion  and  on  your  own  index  of  memory.  But 
the  division  should  certainly  be  made  according  to 
the  nature  of  the  subject-matter,  and  not  merely  by 
the  number  of  lines.  In  other  words,  certain  por- 
tions of  a  poem  are  more  easily  memorized  than 
others,  and  it  is  therefore  unwise  to  divide  a  poem  up 
merely  into  passages  of  a  certain  number  of  lines 
each.  We  learn  by  following  the  thread  of  the 
poet's  thought  rather  than  by  following  the  mechan- 
ical division  of  lines  and  stanzas. 

Having  selected  a  unit,  say  six  stanzas,  for  a  par- 
ticular period,  the  next  principle  to  be  observed  is 
that  the  unit  should  be  learnt  as  a  whole.  This 
seems  a  very  remarkable  bit  of  advice.  For  we 
are  so  accustomed  to  learn  a  poem  stanza  by  stanza 
that  there  seems  something  altogether  wrong  in 
attempting  to  learn  six  stanzas  at  once.  Yet  actual 
experience  shows  that  it  is  more  profitable  to  read 
over  the  whole  six  stanzas  consecutively  and  then 
re-read  them  over  and  over  again  as  a  whole.  It 
appears  that  the  gain  comes  in  from  the  carrying 
over  of  the  stream  of  intelligence  from  one  stanza 
to  the  next.  When  we  learn  by  separate  stanzas, 
each  is  inclined  to  stand  out  as  a  unit  by  itself,  and 
there  is  a  difficulty  at  the  end  of  each  in  getting 
switched  on  to  the  proper  one  to  follow.  The  advan- 
tage in  time-saving  of  this  block-system  of  learning 
by  heart  arises  from  the  fact  that  it  makes  the 
subject-matter  of  first  importance  in  the  learning. 
The  words  take  their  proper  place  as  the  expression 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

of  consecutive  thought.  This  makes  it  specially 
important  that  we  should  understand  perfectly  the 
meaning  of  what  we  set  about  committing  to 
memory.  Any  mistake  that  we  commit  to  memory 
involves  a  great  amount  of  wasted  time  before  it 
can  be  re-learnt  correctly. 

Do  your  memorizing  as  quickly  and  intensely  as 
possible.  Divide  up  your  time  available  for  this 
purpose  into  sections  of  severe  concentration, 
separated  by  short  pauses,  during  which  you  allow 
the  mind  to  lie  fallow.  After  committing  some- 
thing to  memory  try,  if  possible,  not  to  begin  at 
once  on  a  new  piece  of  work.  It  is  profitable  to 
allow  the  matter  a  little  time  to  sink  in. 

You  will,  of  course,  distinguish  between  the  kind 
of  memory  we  are  here  dealing  with,  verbal  memory, 
and  the  other  kind  that,  you  remember,  we  named 
rational  memory.  In  the  first  kind  we  retain  and 
recall  the  very  words  used  in  certain  connexions.; 
This  may  be  done  with  or  without  understanding 
their  meaning,  though  we  have  seen  that  such  an 
understanding  is  an  advantage.  In  the  case  of  the 
rational  memory  we  recall  facts  in  their  true  rela- 
tions to  one  another,  though  we  may  be  unable  to 
express  them  exactly  as  we  may  have  heard  them 
expressed.  This  is  the  kind  of  memory  that  enables 
one  to  give  "the  substance  of"  a  passage  that  one 
has  read.  Of  the  two,  the  rational  memory  is  the 
more  important,  but  each  has  its  place.  A  person 
may  be  very  weak  in  verbal  memory  and  quite  strong 
[72] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

in  rational  memory.  The  two  powers  have  no  fixed 
ratio  to  one  another.  It  used  to  be  thought  that  by 
cultivating  the  verbal  memory  the  rational  memory 
could  be  strengthened.  It  was  a  very  common  belief, 
for  example,  that  by  learning  poetry  by  heart,  the 
memory  in  general  could  be  improved.  This  view 
is  now  abandoned,  and  it  is  recognized  that  memory- 
training  must  consist  in  training  the  memory  in  the 
particular  way  in  which  improvement  is  desired. 
Practice  in  learning  by  rote  only  increases  our  skill 
in  rote-learning. 

When  we  say  that  the  brute  memory  cannot  be 
improved,  we  have  seen  that  we  seem  to  go  against 
the  experience  of  people  in  general,  for  we  are  all 
familiar  with  certain  systems  of  memory-training 
that  profess  to  increase  the  natural  capacity  of 
remembering.  But  all  these  systems  depend  for 
their  success  on  a  skilful  manipulation  of  the  natural 
memory  the  pupil  brings  to  the  system-maker.  They 
all  start  by  causing  the  pupil  to  acquire  in  the 
ordinary  way,  that  is  by  application  and  repetition, 
some  definite  basework,  and  then  arrange  in  some 
definite  relation  to  this  basework  all  matters  to  be 
remembered.  Many  of  them  are  very  ingenious, 
but  they  all  demand  a  certain  amount  of  initial  effort, 
and  a  further  effort  in  applying  the  ingeniously 
systematized  rules.  They  all  depend  on  getting  the 
pupil  to  apply  the  ordinary  modes  of  remembering, 
though  these  are  aided  by  the  scheme  of  the  system- 
atizer.  One  of  the  oldest  schemes,  for  example,  is 
[73] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

to  make  the  pupil  imagine  he  has  a  house  of  a 
certain  number  of  rooms,  each  room  being  set  apart 
for  one  special  set  of  facts — one  room  for  agri- 
culture, another  for  war,  another  for  law,  another 
for  literature,  and  so  on.  Each  fact  the  pupil  wishes 
to  retain  is  taken  by  him  in  imagination  to  the 
proper  room  and  there  deposited  in  a  suitable  place 
in  relation  to  the  other  facts  already  placed  there. 
This  continual  wandering  about  the  imaginary  house 
familiarizes  the  pupil  with  the  contents  of  each  room, 
and  thus  by  repetition  and  revision  enables  him  to 
master  the  essential  details.  The  system-makers 
claim  to  establish  a  memoria  technica,  an  artificial 
memory.  But  we  can  no  more  have  an  artificial 
memory  than  we  can  have  an  artificial  soul. 

What  gives  success  to  the  memory-improvers  is 
the  fact  that  they  do  insist  upon  their  pupils  concen- 
trating upon  certain  points.  The  mere  fact  that  the 
pupil  must  repeatedly  go  over  the  facts  to  be  retained 
ensures  that  he  shall  make  that  expenditure  of  energy 
upon  each  that  is  essential  to  its  complete  retention. 
Further,  people  who  go  to  trainers  of  the  memory 
want  to  learn:  in  almost  every  case  they  want  to 
learn  some  particular  kind  of  fact,  and  all  the  exer- 
cises they  get  naturally  are  made  to  bear  upon  facts 
of  this  class.  Accordingly  progress  is  made.  You 
may  rest  assured  that  there  is  no  memory  improver 
like  the  honest  and  earnest  concentration  of  attention 
on  the  facts  that  you  wish  to  master. 

Yet  an  intelligible  arrangement  of  facts  does  help 
[74] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

greatly,  and  what  the  best  of  the  memory  systems 
do  is  to  enable  the  pupil  to  organize  the  facts  that  he 
wishes  to  retain.  The  hardest  facts  to  hold  are 
isolated  facts.  The  ideas  in  the  mind  have  been 
compared  to  "living  creatures  having  hands  and 
feet."  These  living  creatures  have  a  tendency  to 
form  friendships  among  themselves  and  to  do  the 
best  they  can  for  one  another.  One  of  their  main 
acts  of  friendship  is  to  help  their  friends  into  the 
consciousness  where  they  themselves  belong  and  to 
do  their  best  to  prevent  them  from  being  thrust  out 
of  it.  Accordingly  the  greater  the  number  of 
friends  a  new  idea  can  form  among  the  old  ideas, 
the  better  its  chance  of  retaining  its  place  in  the 
mind,  or  of  being  easily  brought  back  to  it.  The 
moment  we  can  fit  a  new  fact  into  a  group  of  old 
facts,  we  have  given  it  a  chance  of  retaining  its 
place  in  our  mind. 

Certain  more  or  less  artificial  ways  of  grouping 
new  facts  with  old  are  recognized  and  known  by 
the  name  of  Mnemonics.  Among  the  tricks  of  this 
kind  are  the  well-known  rhyming  Geographies  and 
Histories  that  have  had  their  day  and  have  gone  to 
the  place  prepared  for  them.  It  is  among  the  best 
of  these,  Dr.  Mackay's  Rhyming  Geography,  that 
we  find  the  following : — 

"  "The  states  of  Northern  Germany 

Are  twenty-two  in  number, 
The  names  of  which  I  need  not  give 
The  mem'ry  to  encumber." 

[75] 


Making  the  Most  of  Ones  Mind 
Even  worse  is  another  stanza  from  the  same  book: 

"The  southern  half's  a  triangle 

Of  greater  elevation, 
With  several  lofty  peaks  that  reach 
The  line  of  congelation." 

What  is  wrong  with  these  is  the  intolerable  amount 
of  scaffolding  to  the  very  small  amount  of  structure. 
Further,  any  pupil  who  knows  about  "the  line  of 
congelation"  does  not  need  the  help  of  a  stanza  to 
remember  that  the  Deccan  is  triangular  and  has 
snowy  mountains.  The  help  given  by  such  verses 
is  illegitimate,  since  it  tends  to  throw  us  back  upon 
mere  rote-learning.  We  depend  on  words,  not  upon 
thoughts.  It  is  true  that  there  are  certain  facts  in 
our  studies  that  cannot  be  fully  explained  at  the 
stage  at  which  the  pupil  stands,  and  yet  must  be 
remembered.  Of  this  kind  are  the  verbs  that  govern 
the  dative  in  Latin;  and  many  of  us,  in  our  pre- 
paratory-school days,  have  been  grateful  to  the 
author  of  certain  flagrant  rhymelets. 

"A  dative  put,  remember  pray, 
After  envy,  spare,  obey, 
Heal,  favour,  hurt,  resist,  to  these 
Add,  order,  succour  and  displease.  .  .  .  !" 

And  so  on.  Some  objection  might  be  raised  to 
this  mnemonic  since  certain  fairly  intelligible  reasons 
can  be  assigned  why  these  verbs  should  govern  the 
dative  and  not  the  accusative.  But  there  is  another 
mnemonic  of  the  same  kind  that  seems  to  meet  all 
the  requirements.  It  is  that  which  keeps  in  the 

[76] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

memory  the  Latin  prepositions  that  govern  the 
ablative.  It  runs: 

"A,  ab,  abs,  absque,  de, 
E,  ex,  coram,  cum,  pro,  prae, 
palam,  sine,  tenus." 

Here  there  is  no  scaffolding  at  all.  The  mnemonic 
fries  in  its  own  juice  as  it  were.  It  has  the  attrac- 
tion of  both  rhyme  and  rhythm.  Further,  it  deals 
with  just  those  matters  that  cannot  be  treated  in  a 
rational  way.  There  is  no  doubt  some  reason  why 
these  prepositions  should  govern  the  ablative  and 
others  should  not,  but  it  is  not  a  reason  that  is 
open  to  the  pupils  at  the  stage  at  which  a  mnemonic 
is  valuable.  The  same  argument  might  be  applied 
to  the  mnemonic  for  keeping  in  their  proper  places 
those  troublesome  nones  in  the  Roman  calendar. 
The  following  couplet  is  supposed  to  remove  the 
difficulty : 

"In  March,  July,  October,  May, 
The  nones  fell  on  the  seventh  day." 

But  when  all  is  said,  we  are  not  secure.  May  is 
the  only  month  about  which  we  can  be  quite  certain. 
The  rhyme  fixes  it.  But  the  other  months  in  the 
first  line  might  easily  escape  us,  and  in  our  effort 
to  make  the  lines  run  we  might  quite  well  substitute 
other  months.  Thus  the  couplet  might  readily  go: 

"In  April,  June,  November,  May, 
The  nones  fell  on  the  fifteenth  day." 

The  matter  of  rhythm  is  too  often  neglected  in 

[77] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

the  process  of  memorizing.  If  it  is  necessary  to 
keep  in  mind  a  group  of  words  that  are  related  to 
each  other,  it  is  advisable  to  arrange  them  in  such  a 
way  that  they  shall  run  smoothly  into  each  other. 
The  following  illustration  serves  at  once  as  a  warn- 
ing and  as  a  model.  It  was  part  of  the  work  of 
school  pupils  to  "get  up"  all  the  important  towns  in 
each  of  the  counties  in  the  British  Islands.  This 
should  have  been  done,  of  course,  by  making  the 
pupils  look  out  the  towns  on  their  maps  and  make  a 
mental  picture  of  their  place  in  each  county  and 
their  positions  relative  to  each  other.  But  teachers 
often  adopted  the  plan  of  making  their  pupils  merely 
memorize  a  list  of  towns  for  each  county.  Thus 
the  four  important  towns  of  Argyleshire  were  learnt 
by  rote  as  Inverary,  Dunoon,  Oban,  Campbeltown. 
So  far  we  have  had  only  the  warning.  For  in  the 
first  place,  the  list  should  not  have  been  committed 
to  memory  in  this  way  at  all,  and  in  the  second,  if 
it  had  to  be  committed,  it  should  have  been  so 
arranged  as  to  help  the  mind  in  retaining  it.  Note 
how  much  more  easily  it  runs  as  Inverary,  Oban, 
Campbeltown,  Dunoon.  If  you  repeat  it  over  two  or 
three  times  you  find  a  difficulty  in  stopping.  At 
least,  that  was  what  happened  to  the  children  who 
had  the  words  placed  in  this  order.  If  you  have  to 
get  up  the  members  of  a  particular  ministry,  or  a 
list  of  minerals,  that  have  no  special  order  of  relative 
importance,  it  is  wise  to  arrange  them  so  that  they 
make  a  pleasing  combination  of  sound. 

[78] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

We  all  do  this  sort  of  thing  in  our  efforts  to 
master  more  or  less  disconnected  details.  Even  the 
method  of  using  the  initial  letters  of  words  that 
have  to  be  grouped  together  is  quite  permissible. 
The  student  is  assumed  to  have  a  competent  knowl- 
edge of  the  important  parts  of  the  subject  and  to 
require  help  only  in  keeping  the  proper  elements 
together,  and  in  recalling  them  in  their  proper  place. 
No  student  of  English  History  has  any  difficulty  in 
stating 'who  the  members  of  the  famous  Cabal  were. 
He  reads  them  off  by  their  initials,  Clifford,  Arling- 
ton, Buckingham,  Ashley  and  Lauderdale.  I  quote 
this  example  because  it  is  interesting  and  respectable. 
You  will  be  well  advised  to  avoid  all  such  childish 
phrases  as  those  used  to  keep  in  their  order  the 
battles  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses.  An  occasional 
manipulation  of  the  initials  of  things  we  want  to 
group  is  quite  permissible,  but  any  elaboration  of 
the  plan  is  a  waste  of  time,  with  the  added  danger 
of  emphasizing  unimportant  elements  and  relations. 

There  is  one  particular  problem  for  the  memory 
that  gives  rise  to  a  great  deal  of  difficulty.  This 
is  the  fixing  of  the  alternative.  It  is  quite  common 
for  the  student  to  remember  that  a  fact  is  true  in 
one  of  two  forms,  but  not  to  be  sure  which  is 'which. 
The  point  is  illustrated  in  the  venerable  story  of 
the  drill  sergeant  who  asked  the  recruit  his  height, 
and  was  told  that  it  was  "either  ten  foot  five  or 
five  foot  ten."  In  a  case  of  this  kind  there  is  a 
standard  ready  at  hand  to  determine  which  alterna- 
[79] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

tive  should  have  the  preference.  But  it  is  not  usually 
so,  and  the  student  is  often  tormented  with  doubts, 
and  has  sometimes  to  fall  back  upon  mere  guess- 
work, to  throw  up  the  penny  and  let  fate  decide. 
Most  of  us  try  individual  little  tricks  to  keep  us 
right  when  we  see  the  chance  of  our  being  put  in  a 
dilemma  by  a  future  demand  for  a  decision.  Here 
are  some  examples. 

In  French  there  are  two  verbs  that  have  an  awk- 
ward trick  of  getting  into  each  other's  way.  Pecker 
means  to  fish,  and  pecker  means  to  sin.  The  student 
has  no  difficulty  in  remembering  that  the  one  has 
an  acute  accent  and  the  other  a  circumflex,  but  the 
trouble  is  to  remember  which  gets  which.  An  in- 
genious teacher  got  his  pupils  out  of  this  hesitation 
by  saying  that  a  sinner  usually  thinks  he  is  a  rather 
'cute  person.  Sinners  aren't  really  acute,  the  teacher 
explained  in  the  interests  of  morality,  but  they  think 
they  are,  so  "you  will  always  remember  that  sinning 
gets  the  acute  accent."  To  make  matters  doubly 
sure,  this  teacher  pointed  out  that  the  circumflex 
accent  was  not  very  like  a  fish-hook,  but  it  was  at 
anyrate  more  like  a  fish-hook  than  was  the  acute 
accent.  With  these  two  lines  of  guidance  this 
teacher's  pupils  never  after  had  any  trouble  with 
these  verbs. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  make  pupils  understand  that 

in  the  northern  hemisphere  whirlwinds  rotate  from 

east  to  west,  or,  as  it  is  commonly  expressed,  "in 

the  opposite  direction  to  the  hands  of  a  watch,"  and 

[80] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

that  whirlwinds  in  the  southern  hemisphere  move  in 
the  direction  west  to  east,  or  in  the  same  direction 
as  the  hands  of  a  watch.  It  is  found  that  pupils 
readily  remember  the  distinction,  but  they  are  never 
sure  on  which  side  of  the  equator  the  two  kinds  of 
movements  are  to  be  placed.  Here  again  the  in- 
genious person  comes  along  and  explains  that  if  we 
take  the  ordinary  movement  of  the  hands  of  the 
watch  to  be  the  standard,  we  have  only  to  ask  our- 
selves about  the  whirlwind  whether  it  follows  the 
direction  of  the  hands  of  a  watch  and  remember  the 
following  answer :  North,  no :  south,  so.  This,  again, 
worked  very  well  for  examination  purposes,  but  the 
question  rises  whether  such  tricks  are  justifiable  in 
our  studies.  The  answer  is  best  given  by  consider- 
ing the  state  of  knowledge  of  the  person  who  uses 
the  mnemonic.  If  this  knowledge  is  sufficient  to 
supply  a  rational  explanation,  then  we  should  never 
fall  back  upon  a  mere  trick  to  fix  the  alternative. 
The  practical  rule  that  should  guide  us  in  the  use  of 
Mnemonics  is:  Make  the  mnemonic  as  real  as  pos- 
sible, i.  e.,  let  the  scaffolding  be  as  closely  related  to 
the  fact  to  be  remembered  and  as  true  to  reality  in 
itself  as  is  possible.  Another  way  of  expressing  the 
same  thing  is:  Never  depend  on  a  mnemonic  when 
you  can  reason  out  the  facts  from  data  supplied. 

For  example,  time  in  New  York  is  different  from 
time  in  London,  and  many  people  can  never  remem- 
ber whether  the  American  clocks  are  fast  or  slow 
compared  with  the  English.    An  English  mnemonic 
[81] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones   Mind 

might  be  that  however  smart  the  Americans  think 
themselves,  the  English  are  always  several  hours 
ahead  of  them.  The  Americans  might  retaliate  with 
the  mnemonic  that  since  England  is  an  old  and 
effete  country,  it  is  natural  that  it  should  be  evening 
in  England  while  it  is  still  noon  in  America:  young 
nation  young  time,  old  nation  old  time.  But  this 
is  a  case  in  which  no  mnemonic  is  required.  Every- 
body knows  that  the  sun  moves  from  east  to  west. 
When  it  is  overhead  at  London,  London  has  midday, 
while  America  must  wait  till  the  sun  reaches  her 
before  it  can  be  midday  there.  An  English  watch 
must  therefore  be  "fast"  when  compared  with  an 
American  watch. 

Among  the  most  effective  ways  of  fixing  the 
alternative  is  the  force  of  contrast.  In  the  scale  of 
colours  the  wave-lengths  increase  towards  the  red 
end  of  the  spectrum  and  diminish  towards  the  violet. 
There  are  reasons  for  this,  which  the  man  of  science 
can  give,  no  doubt,  but  for  the  student  at  an  examina- 
tion in  elementary  physics  it  is  comforting  to  remem- 
ber that  red  is  the  smallest  name  for  a  colour  and 
yet  has  the  biggest  wave-length.  Violet  has  a  big 
name  and  yet  has  to  be  content  with  the  smallest 
wave-length.  This  mnemonic  is  typical  of  the  sort 
of  thing  that  is  most  useful  to  you  in  your  ordinary 
work.  It  is  simple,  natural,  free  from  scaffolding 
and  all  manner  of  fuss ;  and  these  are  just  the  quali- 
ties you  should  insist  upon  having  in  the  mnemonics 
you  use. 

[82] 


CHAPTER  IV 


NATURE  OF  STUDY  AND  THINKING 

WHEN  we  study  we  apply  our  minds  to  what 
is  going  on  around  us,  in  order  that  we  may 
learn  how  to  behave  ourselves  intelligently  in  rela- 
tion to  those  surroundings.  We  are  not  to  suppose 
that  study  is  confined  to  books.  It  is  true  that  most 
people  associate  the  notion  of  study  with  schools  and 
colleges,  or  at  the  very  least  with  books.  But  in  the 
broad  sense  study  consists  in  deliberately  acquiring 
such  familiarity  with  our  surroundings  as  shall  en- 
able us  to  make  ourselves  thoroughly  at  home  in 
them.  To  be  sure,  conning  the  multiplication  table 
and  learning  to  read  seem  remote  from  the  needs  of 
the  very  complicated  adult  life  that  lies  before  the 
pupil,  but  the  accomplishments  of  the  schoolroom 
have  all  a  very  definite  relation  to  the  pupil's  present 
and  future  surroundings.  Study  has  for  its  aim 
the  mastery  of  the  conditions  under  which  we  have 
to  live.  The  student  may  be  misdirected  in  his 
study,  but  the  mastery  of  his  surroundings  is  always 
[83] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

his  ultimate  aim.  Indeed,  education  has  been  de- 
fined as  the  process  by  which  the  educand  absorbs 
and  is  absorbed  by  his  environment.  As  we  learn 
we  may  be  said  to  take  possession  of  the  outer  world 
and  make  it  a  part  of  our  mental  life,  while  at  the 
same  time  the  outer  world  is  taking  possession  of 
us  and  making  us  conform  to  all  its  conditions;  the 
result  being  that  we  gradually  find  ourselves  more 
and  more  at  home  in  our  surroundings. 

Froebel,  in  speaking  of  education,  tells  us  that  the 
pupil's  activity  works  in  two  ways.  At  one  time  it  is 
busy  taking  in  material  from  the  outer  world :  this 
he  calls  making  the  outer  inner.  At  another  time 
it  is  occupied  in  impressing  its  own  influence  upon 
things  without :  this  he  calls  making  the  inner  outer. 
In  the  first  case  the  outer  world  is  supplying  material 
for  the  mind  to  work  upon ;  in  the  second  the  mind, 
by  its  reaction  on  this  material,  is,  at  least  to  some 
extent,  modifying  the  outer  world.  Sometimes  the 
first  process  is  called  impression  and  the  second 
expression.  To  the  process  of  learning,  both  are 
necessary. 

Herbert  Spencer  expresses  the  same  truth  some- 
what differently  when  he  says  that  "knowledge  is 
turned  into  faculty  as  soon  as  it  is  taken  in,  and 
forthwith  aids  in  the  general  function  of  thinking 
.  .  .  does  not  lie  merely  written  on  the  pages  of  an 
internal  library,  as  when  rote-learnt."  In  plain 
English,  Spencer  regards  it  as  possible  to  turn  fact 
into  faculty.  At  first  sight  this  seems  a  hard  saying. 
[84] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

How  can  an  external  fact,  say  the  law  of  gravitation, 
become  a  part  of  the  faculty  of  a  human  being? 
But  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  you  will  realize 
that  you  are  a  different  sort  of  person  from  what  you 
would  be  did  you  not  know  the  law  of  gravitation. 
Everybody  knows  the  effects  of  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion, whether  they  know  the  law  itself  or  not.  The 
most  illiterate  man  would  be  a  different  sort  of 
person  if  he  did  not  know  that  when  the  support  of 
his  hand  is  removed  from  the  jug  he  is  carrying,  it 
will  fall  to  the  ground.  And  in  the  same  way  you 
would  be  a  slightly  different  person  from  what  you 
are  if  you  did  not  know  that  gravitation  exercises 
its  power  "inversely  as  the  squares  of  the  distance." 
If,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  you  do  not  at  this  moment 
happen  to  know  the  exact  law  of  gravitation,  then 
you  will  become  a  slightly  different  person  when 
you  do  know  it. 

When  you  look  into  the  matter,  you  will  readily 
see  that  knowledge  is  sometimes  treated  as  passive 
and  sometimes  as  active;  or,  if  you  prefer  it,  knowl- 
edge is  sometimes  static  and  sometimes  dynamic. 
People  often  speak  of  "mental  content,"  by  which 
they  mean  all  the  knowledge  belonging  to  a  particular 
mind.  Your  mental  content  is  made  up  of  all  the 
ideas  that  are  either  in  your  mind  now,  or  have  been 
there  before  and  may  be  called  up  again  by  and  by. 
Investigations  have  been  made,  for  example,  into  the 
contents  of  the  minds  of  school  children.  The  mental 
content  of  a  country  child  is  found  to  be  different 
[85] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

from  that  of  a  town  child,  and  in  comparing  the 
two,  the  investigator  makes  a  sort  of  inventory  in 
each  case  and  then  compares  the  results.  From  this 
point  of  view  we  are  clearly  dealing  with  knowledge 
as  static.  Ideas  are  regarded  as  in  a  way  the  furni- 
ture of  the  mind,  and  just  as  we  may  make  an  in- 
ventory of  tables  and  chairs  and  sideboards,  so  we 
may  make  an  inventory  of  ideas  of  larks,  and  tram- 
cars,  and  hayricks,  and  asphalt  pavements.  When 
we  make  the  outer  inner,  we  are  increasing  our 
mental  content. 

But  ideas  do  not  remain  sedately  where  we  put 
them,  as  chairs  and  tables  do  in  a  room.  They  are 
in  continual  movement,  and  would  almost  appear 
to  have  a  life  of  their  own.  You  will  remember  that 
ideas  have  been  said  to  be  "living  creatures  having 
hands  and  feet."  This  you  will  understand  is  noth- 
ing more  than  a  figure  of  speech.  Ideas  do  not  have 
any  power  of  their  own  apart  from  us.  It  is  we  who 
give  them  whatever  force  they  have.  But  all  the 
same,  ideas  will  not  do  exactly  what  we  would  like 
them  to  do,  for  they  are  influenced  by  what  goes  on 
in  the  outer  world.  Ideas  are  related  to  one  another 
in  our  mind  in  a  particular  way  because  the  things 
outside  that  correspond  to  the  ideas  are  related  to 
one  another  in  that  same  particular  way.  The  idea 
of  blue  and  the  idea  of  tomato  refuse  to  be  joined 
together.  It  is  true  that  we  can,  by  the  use  of  our 
imagination,  make  ideas  behave  in  a  way  that  does 
not  correspond  to  what  goes  on  in  the  outer  world. 
[86] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

But  we  know  all  the  time  that  if  we  are  to  make  our- 
selves at  home  in  our  surroundings  we  must  respect 
what  takes  place  in  the  world  of  things.  We  must 
recognize  facts.  When  we  take  in  a  fact  and  turn 
it  into  faculty,  what  has  happened  is  that  we  have 
realized  how  certain  elements  in  the  outer  world  act 
in  relation  to  one  another,  and  that  we  have  made  up 
our  minds  to  act  accordingly.  If  we  have  a  true  idea 
of  a  dog,  this  means  that  we  know  how  to  behave 
intelligently  when  we  meet  dogs,  or  when  people 
speak  to  us  about  dogs.  The  idea  of  dog  is  active 
to  that  extent.  It  is  not  a  mere  picture  inside  our 
mind :  it  is  really  our  way  of  dealing  with  dogs.  All 
the  facts  that  we  know  about  dogs  have  been  turned 
into  the  faculty  of  behaving  intelligently  wherever 
dogs  are  concerned. 

It  is  worth  noting  that  not  all  facts  become  faculty 
to  the  same  degree.  Many  facts  have  so  little  bear- 
ing upon  our  life  that  they  hardly  seem  to  have  any 
effect  at  all.  You  could  sit  down  with  a  sheet  of 
foolscap  and  in  a  few  minutes  fill  it  with  facts  about 
the  room  in  which  you  are  sitting,  that  are  of  no 
consequence  to  anyone,  even  to  yourself.  The  facts 
that  count  are  what  may  be  called  significant  facts, 
facts  that  have  a  meaning,  facts  that  are  so  related 
to  other  facts  as  to  be  capable  of  giving  practical 
guidance  in  our  thinking,  acting  or  feeling.  Now  in 
our  studies  we  are  supposed  to  deal  only  with  signifi- 
cant facts,  facts  that  can  and  ought  to  be  turned  into 
faculty.  No  better  test,  indeed,  could  be  applied  to 

[87] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

discover  whether  certain  subjects  should  be  included 
in  the  school  curriculum  than  the  question:  "Can 
and  should  the  facts  included  under  these  subjects  be 
turned  into  faculty?"  The  multiplication  table,  for 
example,  certainly  supplies  facts  that  ought  to  be 
turned  into  faculty.  We  are  different  sorts  of  per- 
sons because  we  know  these  facts.  It  would  be  a 
different  sort  of  world  if  seven  times  eight  were 
sometimes  fifty-six  and  sometimes  sixty-four. 

These  considerations  give  us  some  help  when  we 
come  to  our  actual  study.  We  find  that,  broadly 
speaking,  our  work  is  of  two  kinds.  Sometimes 
our  main  business  seems  to  be  to  acquire  knowledge  : 
certain  matters  are  placed  before  us  in  books  or  by 
our  teachers,  and  we  are  required  to  master  them,  to 
make  them  part  of  our  stock  of  knowledge.  At  other 
times  we  are  called  upon  to  use  the  knowledge  we 
already  possess  in  order  to  attain  some  end  that  is 
set  before  us.  In  a  general  way,  the  two  may  be 
classed  as  acquisitive  and  constructive  work.  In 
Geography,  for  example,  so  long  as  we  are  merely 
learning  the  bare  facts  of  the  subject,  the  size  and 
contours  of  the  different  continents,  the  political 
divisions,  the  natural  features,  we  are  at  the  acquisi- 
tive stage.  We  are  making  the  outer  inner.  But 
when  we  go  on  to  try  to  .find  out  the  reasons  why 
certain  facts  that  we  have  learnt  should  be  as  they 
are  and  not  otherwise,  we  pass  to  the  constructive 
stage.  We  are  working  constructively  when  we  seek 
to  discover  why  it  is  that  great  cities  are  so  often 
[88] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

found  on  the  banks  of  rivers,  why  peninsulas  more 
frequently  turn  southward  than  northward,  why  the 
jute  industry  settled  down  in  Dundee.  You  will 
readily  realize  that  all  this  manipulation  of  knowl- 
edge and  its  application  to  new  cases  marks  out  what 
are  called  "problems"  as  the  special  sphere  of  con- 
structive study.  In  acquisition  we  depend  largely 
upon  the  memory,  in  constructive  work  we  depend 
more  upon  the  reason. 

In  our  study  we  must  not  lose  sight  of  the  effect 
that  our  mental  content  produces  upon  the  new  mat- 
ter that  is  presented  to  it.  We  learn  with  our  minds, 
no  doubt,  but  we  also  learn  by  means  of  the  knowl- 
edge we  have  already  acquired.  We  receive  and 
understand  new  facts  in  different  ways  according 
to  our  mental  content.  A  big  word  is  sometimes 
used  to  represent  this  action  of  the  mind  as  modified 
by  its  acquired  knowledge.  This  word  is  appercep- 
tion, and  indicates  the  process  by  which  our  present 
knowledge  acts  upon  any  new  fact  that  is  presented 
to  the  mind.  Some  writers  object  to  this  word  as 
being  unnecessarily  technical.  They  say  that  there 
is  another  word  at  present  in  use  that  will  serve  our 
purpose  extremely  well.  They  say  that  just  as  the 
mind  takes  in  and  acts  upon  knowledge,  so  the  body 
takes  in  and  acts  upon  food.  Assimilation  is  the 
name  given  to  the  process  by  which  the  body  takes 
in  food,  acts  upon  it,  and  makes  some  of  it  part  of 
itself.  Accordingly  we  need  have  no  difficulty  in 
accepting  assimilation  as  a  better  word  than  acquisi- 

[89] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

tion  to  represent  the  process  by  which  the  mind  takes 
in  facts  and  transforms  at  least  some  of  them  into 
faculty.  The  new  term  emphasizes  the  point  that 
the  two  processes,  assimilation  and  construction,  are 
not  so  widely  opposed  as  the  term  acquisition  would 
suggest.  For  purposes  of  exposition  I  began  by 
using  the  term  acquisition,  because  I  wanted  to  make 
the  contrast  a  sharp  one,  but  now  that  we  under- 
stand the  two  kinds  of  study  better,  we  can  fall 
back  upon  the  more  accurate  term  assimilation. 

For  a  very  little  reflection  will  make  you  see  that 
while  there  is  a  distinct  difference  between  the  two 
kinds  of  study-work,  they  must  not  be  regarded  as 
entirely  separate  from  or  independent  of  each  other: 
they  are  not  mutually  exclusive;  they  necessarily 
interpenetrate.  Assimilation  does  not  consist  entirely 
in  gathering  in  new  facts,  nor  does  construction 
confine  itself  to  the  manipulation  and  application  of 
facts  already  acquired.  The  two  processes  to  some 
extent  overlap.  In  acquiring  new  facts  we  must 
always  use  a  little  reason;  while  in  constructive 
work  we  cannot  always  rely  upon  having  all  the 
necessary  matter  ready  to  hand :  we  have  frequently 
to  stop  our  constructive  work  for  a  little  in  order  to 
acquire  some  new  facts  that  we  find  to  be  necessary. 
Thus  we  acquire  a  certain  number  of  new  facts 
while  we  are  reasoning  about  things;  and  while  we 
are  engaged  in  acquiring  new  matter  we  must  use 
our  reason  at  least  to  some  small  extent. 

Students  differ  in  the  way  they  regard  the  two 

[90] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

forms  of  study.  Assimilative  work  is  generally 
regarded  as  easier  than  constructive.  The  more 
commonplace  student  rather  likes  to  sit  down  de- 
liberately to  master  a  certain  amount  of  detail,  to 
lay  in  a  good  store  of  definite  information.  He 
knows  where  he  is  with  this  sort  of  work.  It  does 
not  exhaust  him:  he  is  not  worried  with  that  call 
for  initiative  that  marks  work  of  the  constructive 
kind.  On  the  other  hand,  many  capable  students 
find  it  almost  intolerable  to  sit  down  and  steadily 
amass  material.  They  want  rather  to  keep  on 
applying  material  that  they  have  already  at  their 
disposal.  Now  with  such  students  it  may  be  possible 
to  arrange  that  they  shall  do  most  of  their  assimi- 
lation in  the  process  of  working  out  problems. 
Instead  of  sitting  down  systematically  to  acquire 
certain  bits  of  knowledge  which  may  then  be  applied 
to  problems,  they  may  begin  with  the  problems  and 
then  acquire,  as  they  need  them,  the  necessary  facts. 
In  this  case  they  would  always  have  the  stimulus 
of  a  definite  purpose  in  acquiring  any  necessary 
piece  of  information.  The  danger  of  getting  in- 
formation in  this  way  is  that  there  is  almost  certain 
to  be  various  gaps  left  in  the  pupil's  knowledge.  The 
purely  assimilative  student  ordinarily  studies  his  sub- 
jects in  a  very  systematic  way,  and  thus  secures 
that  his  facts  are  logically  arranged  and  that  there 
are  no  gaps.  It  is  highly  desirable,  therefore,  that 
those  who  prefer  to  acquire  their  knowledge  in  the 
active  process  of  doing  constructive  work,  should 
[91] 


Making    the    Most    of  Ones    Mind 

arrange  for  a  short  supplementary  course  extending 
over  the  ground  covered  by  that  constructive  work, 
so  that  the  inevitable  gaps  may  be  decently  filled. 

Though  of  the  two  forms  of  study- work  the 
assimilative  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  being  less 
important  than  the  other,  we  must  not  forget  that 
both  are  essential  for  a  real  mastery  of  any  subject. 
We  shall  see  later  that  for  examination  work  too 
great  importance  is  attached  to  the  merely  assimila- 
tive side,  though  even  in  examinations  there  is  now 
a  tendency  to  change  matters  so  as  to  give  greater 
prominence  to  the  constructive  side.  But  apart  from 
examination  requirements,  there  is  need  for  the 
somewhat  more  systematic  study  involved  in  the 
ordinary  assimilative  process.  If  we  do  nothing  but 
use  material  already  acquired,  and  add  new  material 
only  incidentally,  we  run  the  danger  of  getting  a 
one-sided  view  of  certain  subjects,  and  of  missing 
some  facts  that,  though  not  likely  to  be  disclosed  in 
the  constructive  process,  yet  would  be  of  great  value 
in  giving  a  fresh  direction  to  that  process.  In  any 
case,  the  man  who  desires  to  have  a  really  all-round 
acquaintance  with  a  subject  must  be  prepared  to 
devote  a  certain  amount  of  time  to  the  direct  acquisi- 
tion of  facts  as  facts. 

Some  subjects  lend  themselves  specially  to  the 
constructive  form  of  study.  These  are  they  in  which 
from  certain  known  facts  it  is  possible  to  infer  a 
great  many  more.  In  such  subjects  we  are  continu- 
ally making  assumptions  with  regard  to  the  matter 
[92] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

in  hand,  and  proceeding  to  verify  or  correct  these 
assumptions.  This  is  really  a  process  of  guessing, 
carried  on  under  legitimate  conditions.  As  a  rule, 
schoolmasters  and  professors  have  a  deadly  animos- 
ity against  guessing.  It  is  their  custom  to  complain 
bitterly  about  foolish  answers  as  the  result  of  mere 
guessing.  But  the  introduction  of  the  word  mere 
makes  an  important  difference,  for  it  implies  that 
there  is  a  kind  of  guessing  that  is  not  open  to 
obloquy.  Indeed,  we  have  to  recognize  the  fact  that 
in  their  ordinary  work  students  are  guessing  very 
nearly  all  the  time.  Unless  they  are  dealing  with 
matters  that  they  have  learned  by  the  mere  process 
of  assimilation,  all  their  answers  are  reached  by  a 
system  of  guesswork.  It  is  true  that  this  guessing 
has  a  sound  foundation,  and  is,  in  fact,  the  only  way 
in  which  real  progress  can  be  made.  If  a  question 
is  put  in  such  a  way  that  we  are  able  to  remember 
the  exact  answer  that  we  know  it  requires,  we  can 
answer  with  the  certainty  of  being  right.  But  in 
most  of  our  other  answers  we  have  little  more  than 
a  feeling  of  probability. 

It  has  to  be  admitted  that  in  certain  lines  of 
reasoning  we  are  able  to  come  to  conclusion  after 
conclusion  with  certainty,  even  though  we  have 
never  had  occasion  to  deal  with  the  matters  in  ques- 
tion on  any  previous  occasion.  Such  is  the  state  of 
affairs  when  we  are  concerned  with  what  is  techni- 
cally known  as  reasoning.  This  consists  in  the 
application  of  certain  very  vague  but  universal  laws 
[93] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

of  thinking,  usually  known  as  the  Laws  of  Thought 
as  Thought.  When  these  laws  are  written  out  they 
appear  to  be  very  empty  and  formal,  and  indeed  to 
be  somewhat  silly,  or  at  the  best  superfluous. 

The  first  of  these  portentous  laws  is  known  as  the 
Law  of  Identity,  which  maintains  that  whatever  is, 
is;  or  that  A  is  A.  It  is  sometimes  represented  by 
the  formula,  that  does  not  seem  to  get  us  much 
further  forward,  A  =  A. 

The  second  is  called  the  Law  of  Non-Contradic- 
tion: it  runs — whatever  is  contradictory  is  unthink- 
able. It,  too,  has  a  formula :  A  =  not  -  A  =  O.  Or 
if  this  does  not  please  you,  then  you  may  choose: 
A  —  A  =  O.  To  help  you  to  attach  some  meaning 
to  these  perplexing  formulae,  you  may  take  as  an 
example  the  fact  that  any  statement  you  may  make 
cannot  be  true  and  false  at  the  same  time,  and  tested 
in  the  same  way.  We  have  to  put  in  those  two 
qualifications,  since  it  is  possible,  for  example,  for 
John  Smith  to  be  both  guilty  and  not  guilty  of  the 
murder  of  Richard  Robinson.  He  may  have  known 
that  Robinson  was  about  to  walk  during  a  fog  over  a 
railway  bridge  that  had  been  broken  in  the  middle 
during  a  recent  gale.  By  giving  no  warning,  Smith 
was  morally  guilty  of  murdering  Robinson.  But 
since,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Smith  had  done  nothing  at 
all  in  the  matter,  he  is  not  legally  guilty  of  the  mur- 
der. In  the  same  way,  a  watch  may  be  both  right 
and  wrong  at  the  same  moment :  right  with  the  town 
clock,  but  wrong  by  the  Greenwich  standard. 
[94] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

The  third  law  is  that  of  the  Excluded  Third,  or 
the  Excluded  Middle.  This  tells  us  that  of  two 
repugnant  notions  that  cannot  both  exist  together, 
one  or  other  of  them  must  exist.  It  has  been  thus 
expressed:  "Of  contradictory  attributions  we  can 
affirm  only  one  of  a  thing;  and  if  one  be  explicitly 
affirmed,  the  other  is  implicitly  denied.  A  either  is 
or  is  not.  A  either  is  or  is  not  B."  Either  there  are 
mermaids  or  there  are  not  mermaids.  There  is  no 
intermediate  state.  John  Smith  cannot  in  the  eyes 
of  the  law  be  both  guilty  and  not  guilty  of  the 
murder  of  Richard  Robinson,  but  he  must  be  one 
or  the  other. 

Now  I  do  not  expect  that  you  will  have  the  least 
inclination  to  question  any  of  these  laws.  You 
could  not  break  them  even  if  you  tried.  What 
troubles  you,  no  doubt,  is  that  you  do  not  quite  see 
the  necessity  to  state  them  at  all.  They  seem  so 
empty  as  to  be  quite  useless.  And  yet  it  is  because 
these  laws  are  there  and  cannot  be  broken  that  we 
can  argue  with  one  another  and  be  quite  sure  that 
our  minds  will  work  uniformly. 

But  if  we  must  all  obey  these  Laws  of  Thought  as 
Thought,  and  if  all  our  minds  work  uniformly  on  the 
same  principles,  how  does  it  come  about  that  we  ever 
reach  different  conclusions?  Have  you  ever  con- 
sidered how  it  is  that  an  honest  Radical  and  an 
honest  Conservative,  from  an  examination  of  the 
same  facts,  come  to  diametrically  opposite  conclu- 
sions? From  what  we  have  said  about  these  laws, 
[95] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

we  might  naturally  expect  that  from  the  same  facts 
only  one  conclusion  could  be  drawn,  and  if  it  de- 
pended merely  on  the  laws,  this  would  be  true;  but 
other  things  have  to  be  taken  into  consideration.  The 
English  philosopher  John  Locke  was  of  the  opinion 
that  two  men  must  come  to  the  same  conclusion  on 
any  subject  if  the  following  conditions  were  ob- 
served :  ( i )  they  must  know  all  the  circumstances  of 
the  case;  (2)  they  must  be  free  from  bias;  (3)  they 
must  give  their  minds  seriously  to  the  subject.  Men 
differ  in  their  opinions  because  they  cannot  observe 
all  these  conditions,  and  in  fact,  when  we  look  into 
the  matter,  we  find  that  very  few  people  observe 
any  one  of  them. 

It  is  obviously  impossible  for  any  man  to  hope  to 
know  all  the  circumstances  of  any  case,  for  this 
would  really  imply  that  he  knew  all  about  everything 
in  the  universe :  since,  after  all,  everything  is  related 
to  everything  else  in  some  way  or  other,  however 
remote.  It  would  be  enough,  indeed,  if  our  honest 
Radical  and  our  honest  Conservative  knew  exactly 
the  same  facts,  but  even  this  is  all  but  impossible, 
since  all  the  knowledge  that  each  possesses  about 
other  things  would  affect  his  knowledge  about  the 
particular  facts  that  are  under  discussion  on  any 
one  occasion. 

But  the  second  condition  is  quite  as  hard  to  fulfil. 

It  is  almost  impossible  for  a  man  to  empty  himself  of 

his  preferences  and  dislikes.   He  may  make  the  most 

strenuous  efforts  to  keep  a  perfectly  fair  mind,  yet  he 

[96] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

will  find  that  his  likes  and  dislikes  do  come  in  and 
interfere  with  the  soundness  of  his  decision.  It  has 
to  be  remembered  that  this  does  not  mean  that  he 
always  favours  his  own  side.  The  effort  to  be  quite 
fair  may  result  in  the  Radical  or  the  Conservative 
giving  an  unfair  advantage  to  the  view  he  dislikes. 
When  a  fair  man  gives  to  an  opponent  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt,  it  almost  always  means  that  the  opponent 
is  getting  the  advantage  of  a  bias.  Thus  in  the 
effort  to  be  fair  to  all  his  pupils,  a  schoolmaster  who 
has  a  son  in  his  class  is  apt  to  be  more  severe  on  his 
son  than  on  the  other  boys. 

It  is  when  we  come  to  the  third  condition  that 
there  is  hope,  for  the  honest  man  can  at  least  give 
his  mind  to  the  subject.  Most  of  the  opinions  of  the 
ordinary  man  come  to  him  more  or  less  ready-made. 
He  accepts  the  opinions  of  others,  or  if  he  strikes  out 
on  his  own  account,  he  often  does  so  after  a  merely 
superficial  examination  of  the  facts  of  the  case.  As 
a  student,  it  is  your  first  business  to  give  your  mind 
seriously  to  all  those  matters  submitted  to  you  on 
which  you  are  expected  to  pass  an  opinion.  In  the 
purely  assimilative  process  you  may,  under  certain 
conditions,  regard  the  material  supplied  as  already 
guaranteed,  but  the  moment  you  enter  upon  con- 
structive work  you  must  be  prepared  to  give  your 
mind  to  a  critical  examination  of  the  matters  pre- 
sented to  you. 

So  long  as  we  are  working  within  the  realm  of  the 
Laws  of  Thought  we  can  be  quite  certain  of  our 
[97] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

answers.  We  have  no  need  to  hesitate.  There  is  no 
room  for  guesswork.  If  I  am  told  that,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-two,  John  Locke  died  in  the  same  year  that 
the  Battle  of  Blenheim  was  fought,  and  that  this 
battle  was  fought  in  the  year  1704,  there  is  no  guess- 
work whatever  in  my  saying  that  he  was  born  in  the 
year  1632.  Thackeray  tells  a  story  about  an  abbe 
who  called  upon  a  certain  count,  and  while  waiting 
for  the  arrival  of  the  host  did  his  best  to  amuse  the 
count's  other  guests  by  telling  them  of  some  of  his 
experiences.  He  mentioned  how  interesting  it  was 
to  hear  the  confessions  of  sinners,  and  added 
piquancy  to  his  talk  by  saying  that  his  first  penitent 
was  a  murderer.  When  the  count  arrived  he  was 
very  glad  to  see  his  friend,  and  turning  to  his  guests, 
remarked  that  the  abbe  was  one  of  his  oldest  friends. 
"In  fact,"  he  concluded,  "I  was  the  abbe's  first 
penitent."  The  guests  could  draw  only  one  conclu- 
sion. The  count  had  proclaimed  himself  a  murderer. 
There  was  no  possible  room  for  doubt. 

But  we  are  not  always  in  a  position  to  adopt  this 
tone  of  certainty.  We  have  to  balance  one  thing 
against  another,  and  come  to  a  conclusion  that  seems 
on  the  whole  the  most  probable  in  the  circumstances. 
This  process  of  trying  to  get  at  the  truth  by  estimat- 
ing probabilities  is  not  open  to  the  objections  usually 
brought  against  guessing.  If  you  are  asked  some 
question  the  answer  to  which  you  do  not  know,  and 
make  a  shot  at  random,  this  is  guessing,  and  is 
objectionable.  But  if  you  have  some  reason  for  giv- 
[98] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

ing  one  answer  rather  than  any  other,  you  cannot  be 
said  to  be  guessing  in  the  bad  sense  of  that  term, 
even  though  you  are  not  at  all  sure  that  your  answer 
is  right.  Guessing  in  the  better  sense  of  the  term 
may  be  said  to  be  the  jumping  to  a  conclusion  on 
insufficient  grounds,  but  with  a  full  knowledge  of 
the  uncertainty  of  the  result.  The  conclusion  is  the 
best  we  can  reach  with  the  material  at  our  disposal. 
This  form  of  guessing  is  not  to  be  discouraged.  It 
is  a  step  towards  the  solution  of  a  problem,  as  is 
suggested  in  the  lines : 

"The  golden  guess, 
That's  morning  star  to  the  fair  round  of  truth." 

What  scientific  men  call  hypothesis  is  merely  a  care- 
fully guarded  form  of  guessing.  If  we  assume  a 
certain  state  of  affairs  such  as  seems  likely  to  explain 
a  particular  fact,  and  then  test  the  state  of  affairs  to 
see  how  far  it  does  explain  the  fact  and  how  far  it  is 
consistent  with  what  we  know  of  other  things,  we 
are  said  to  form  an  hypothesis  and  to  test  it.  Between 
the  random  shot  with  no  justification  and  the  rea- 
soned certainty  that  we  have  in  applying  the  Laws 
of  Thought  there  is  to  be  found  a  wide  range  of 
answers  of  varying  degrees  of  certainty,  and  the 
manipulation  of  this  doubtful  region  is  the  realm  of 
practical  thinking. 

By  practical  thinking  we  mean  that  kind  that 
leads  to  new  knowledge.  There  is  a  kind  of  thinking 
that  consists  in  bringing  out  clearly  what  is  implied 
[99] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

in  what  we  know  already.  When  we  think  in  this 
way,  we  are  said  to  think  deductively,  and  we  have 
the  encouraging  assurance  that  in  deduction  we  can- 
not go  wrong.  If  we  are  assured  that  all  dogs  have 
the  heart  divided  into  four  compartments  and  that 
our  Caesar  is  a  dog,  then  we  can  infer  with  absolute 
certainty  that  our  Caesar  has  his  heart  divided  into 
four  compartments.  Here  we  pass  from  two  state- 
ments called  premises  to  a  third  statement  called  a 
conclusion,  with  the  absolute  conviction  that  if  the 
premises  are  true  the  conclusion  cannot  help  being 
true.  If  all  great  admirals  are  blind  of  one  eye,  and 
if  Blake  is  a  great  admiral,  then  nothing  can  shake 
the  belief  of  the  deductive  logician  that  Blake  has 
only  one  eye.  It  is  of  no  use  pointing  out  cases  of 
great  admirals  who  are  not  blind  of  an  eye.  The 
logician  repeats,  "If  all  great  admirals,"  etc.,  then 
Blake  must  be  blind  of  an  eye.  If  the  premises  are 
true  the  conclusion  must  be  true:  but  for  the  truth 
of  the  premises  the  logician  of  this  type  does  not 
hold  himself  responsible.  Let  others  see  to  that. 

It  is  in  securing  the  truth  of  the  premises  that  we 
engage  in  what  we  have  called  practical  thinking.  If 
we  confine  ourselves  to  deductive  logic,  we  shall 
certainly  never  make  any  mistakes.  We  shall  attain 
to  greater  clearness  about  what  we  already  know, 
and  this  is  rather  an  important  matter;  but  we  shall 
make  no  progress:  we  shall  never  get  any  further 
forward.  The  kind  of  logic  that  takes  a  little  risk  of 
error,  but  promises  a  chance  of  progress,  is  called 
[100] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

inductive.  All  our  reasoning  in  deductive  logic  de- 
pends upon  the  truth  of  the  statement  that,  "what- 
ever is  true  of  a  whole  class  is  true  of  every  member 
of  that  class."  No  one  can  deny  this  truth.  It  is 
self-evident.  When  we  say  that  every  member  of  a 
class  possesses  certain  qualities  it  is  only  saying  the 
same  thing  over  again  to  maintain  that  any  one 
member  of  that  class  possesses  these  qualities. 

In  induction  there  is  a  corresponding  general  state- 
ment on  which  all  our  reasoning  is  based,  and  this  is 
that  nature  acts  uniformly:  that  is,  that  whatever 
happens  under  certain  conditions  will  happen  again 
in  exactly  the  same  way  if  all  the  conditions  are 
repeated  exactly  as  they  existed  in  the  first  case.  Our 
belief  in  the  uniformity  of  nature  is  strong.  All  our 
experience  strengthens  us  in  our  faith  in  the  uni- 
formity with  which  she  works,  but  we  do  not  have 
that  absolute  certainty  that  we  have  about  the  work- 
ings of  deductive  logic.  These  depend  on  the  applica- 
tions of  the  Laws  of  Thought  as  Thought,  and  we 
have  found  that  no  one  can  even  think  of  denying 
these.  In  induction,  on  the  other  hand,  we  depend 
practically  on  our  experience,  and  our  experience 
frequently  misleads  us,  because  we  are  not  always 
able  to  interpret  it  aright.  Men's  experience  showed 
them  for  centuries  that  swans  were  always  white,  but 
by  and  by  it  was  found  that  the  swans  in  Australia 
are  black.  So  that  centuries  of  experience  are  not 
enough  to  make  us  quite  sure  of  conclusions  that  we 
reach  by  induction. 

[roi] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

The  black  swan  supplies  a  very  good  illustration 
of  the  working  of  the  two  kinds  of  logic.  With  a 
black  swan  before  him,  the  deductive  logician  goes 
through  his  ceremonial: 

All  swans  are  white. 

This  creature  is  a  swan. 

Therefore  this  creature  is  white. 

The  common-sense  person  objects  that  the  creature 
is  obviously  black.  All  that  the  deductive  logician 
has  to  say  is  that  if  it  is  black  it  is  not  a  swan,  and  he 
is  quite  right :  for  deductive  logic  always  starts  with 
an  agreement  about  the  terms  used.  It  is  quite  true 
that  if  the  term  swan  includes  among  the  other 
recognized  qualities  that  of  whiteness,  then  the  black- 
ness of  this  creature  precludes  it  from  sharing  the 
name  of  swan  with  other  creatures  that  do  fit  in  with 
the  definition  deliberately  adopted.  It  is  left  for  the 
inductive  logician  to  point  out  that  this  black  crea- 
ture has  all  the  other  qualities  that  are  essential  to 
swanhood,  and  that  therefore  the  definition  of  swan 
should  be  so  changed  as  to  include  this  black 
specimen. 

We  thus  see  that  Induction  takes  upon  itself  to 
modify  premises.  It  seeks  to  provide  new  material 
that  enables  us  to  pass  on  to  new  generalizations. 
Naturally  it  wants  to  be  as  sure  of  its  ground  as 
is  possible  under  the  circumstances.  It  cannot  get 
rid  of  all  chance  of  error,  and  must  be  prepared  for 
occasional  mistakes,  but  by  taking  reasonable  pre- 
cautions it  reduces  the  chance  of  error  to  a  minimum. 
[  102  ] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

One  of  the  chief  precautions  is  to  see  that  we  do  not 
draw  an  induction  from  too  few  cases.  We  want  to 
have  a  great  number  of  examples  before  we  come  to 
a  general  conclusion.  A  child  lets  a  book  fall  and 
finds  that  the  binding  has  been  injured,  and  that  part 
of  the  paper  pasted  on  the  inside  of  the  cover  has 
been  torn  off,  revealing  a  picture  underneath.  The 
picture  happens  to  be  there  merely  because  the  binder, 
in  using  scrap-paper,  chanced  upon  a  bit  that  had 
a  picture  on  it.  The  child,  however,  being  unac- 
quainted with  the  conditions  of  wise  induction,  at 
once  jumps  to  the  conclusion  that  if  you  remove  the 
paper  from  the  inside  of  the  covers  of  a  book  you 
will  disclose  a  picture.  After  injuring  a  few  books 
without  disclosing  another  picture,  the  child  finds  it 
necessary  to  reverse  his  first  decision,  and  thus  learns 
one  of  his  first  lessons  in  applying  the  inductive 
method. 

There  must  be  a  sufficient  number  of  cases  to 
warrant  us  in  drawing  a  conclusion,  but  however 
great  the  number  of  cases  we  can  never  be  quite  sure 
that  an  exception  may  not  occur  at  any  moment ;  so 
we  must  be  prepared  to  consider  whether  there  is  any 
value  in  a  rule  to  which  there  are  exceptions.  Ob- 
viously such  a  rule  may  be  of  the  greatest  practical 
service.  It  is  very  important  to  know  how  to  behave 
"in  most  cases,"  even  if  we  cannot  reach  a  rule  that 
will  work  in  all  cases.  It  is  only  natural  that  the 
fewer  the  exceptions  to  a  given  rule,  the  greater 
reliance  may  be  placed  on  that  rule.  Yet  it  is  just 
[103] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

those  rules  that  have  very  few  exceptions  that  are 
most  apt  to  lead  us  into  serious  difficulties.  For  in 
cases  of  this  kind  we  are  apt  to  depend  too  much 
on  the  rule.  It  works  almost  always  with  excellent 
results,  but  when  it  does  fail  we  are  apt  to  be  led  to 
disaster;  whereas,  with  a  rule  that  is  less  reliable, 
we  are  always  more  or  less  on  our  guard,  and  there- 
fore less  likely  to  make  a  complete  smash. 

There  is  another  consideration  that  ought  to  have 
weight  with  us  in  our  use  of  induction.  We  must 
take  account  of  the  natural  connexion  between  dif- 
ferent phenomena.  If  on  three  different  occasions 
we  return  from  a  week-end  visit  to  an  aunt  to  find 
that  something  has  gone  wrong  with  the  plumber- 
work  of  our  house,  we  will  do  wisely  to  content  our- 
selves with  a  remark  on  the  curious  coincidence. 
There  is  no  natural  connexion  between  aunts  and 
plumber-work.  But  if,  after  each  of  the  three  occa- 
sions on  which  we  have  eaten  a  new  kind  of  cereal 
food,  we  experience  an  internal  pain,  we  are  entitled 
to  connect  the  food  with  the  pain  and  to  take 
measures  accordingly.  Food  and  internal  pain  are 
frequently  related  to  one  another  as  cause  and  effect. 
Superficial  resemblances,  too,  are  apt  to  produce  mis- 
leading conceptions.  Thus  it  is  not  uncommon  for 
a  child  to  think  that  milk  is  white  because  it  comes 
from  a  white  cow,  if  the  first  cow  that  comes  into  his 
experience  is  of  that  colour.  Such  a  child  will  often 
express  great  surprise  the  first  time  that  he  sees  white 
milk  coming  from  a  brown  cow. 
[104] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

This  last  example  suggests  a  special  kind  of  induc- 
tion that  is  of  practical  interest  because  it  is  so 
frequently  used  in  ordinary  life.  It  is  called  analogy, 
and  has  given  rise  to  an  inordinate  amount  of  quar- 
relling among  philosophers.  Here  we  need  not  enter 
into  the  details  of  the  arguments  about  its  exact 
nature.  For  practical  purposes  it  may  be  marked  off 
from  ordinary  induction  by  the  fact  that  while  in- 
duction is  based  upon  a  great  number  of  different 
cases  in  which  the  same  law  is  seen  at  work,  analogy 
is  usually  regarded  as  limited  to  two  cases  that 
resemble  each  other  in  a  certain  number  of  points, 
and  because  of  this  resemblance  are  assumed  to  be 
alike  in  certain  other  points.  If  we  compare  the 
planet  Mars  with  the  earth  and  find  that  the  two 
resemble  each  other  in  a  great  many  respects,  such 
as  size,  rotation,  distribution  of  land  and  water, 
conditions  of  temperature  and  atmosphere,  we  may 
by  analogy  infer  that  Mars  has  inhabitants  somewhat 
like  ourselves.  As  a  rule,  analogy  does  not  lead  to  a 
very  definite  conclusion,  but  is  rather  useful  in  indi- 
cating general  similarities  and  probable  uniformities. 
The  great  danger  of  analogy  is  that  of  choosing  two 
cases  that  have  a  certain  number  of  resemblances 
that  are  really  superficial,  and  drawing  conclusions 
as  if  the  two  cases  were  fundamentally  alike.  We 
are  very  apt  to  carry  over  from  the  one  case  to  the 
other,  elements  that  are  quite  incongruous  in  the  new 
set  of  circumstances  to  which  they  are  transferred. 
Thus,  when  it  is  argued  that  under  our  present  laws 
[105] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

a  wife  is  merely  an  unpaid  servant,  elements  are 
introduced  in  the  case  of  the  wife  that  are  quite 
foreign  to  the  case  of  the  servant.  The  important 
point  to  be  kept  in  view  in  analogy  is  that  it  is 
sufficient  if  the  two  cases  can  be  shown  to  be  parallel 
in  the  points  that  are  essential  to  the  matter  under 
discussion.  If,  for  example,  the  flow  of  ideas 
through  the  mind  is  compared  to  a  stream  it  is  a 
silly  objection  to  say  that  this  is  incorrect,  since 
ideas  are  not  wet. 

We  have  seen  that  by  experience,  observation,  in- 
duction and  analogy  we  acquire  certain  materials 
for  the  framing  of  premises  by  means  of  which  we 
may  reach  clearly  expressed  conclusions.  But  in  the 
course  of  our  ordinary  life  we  are  not  so  much  con- 
cerned with  finding  out  and  enunciating  general 
truths  as  in  making  practical  applications  of  these 
truths.  No  doubt  these  general  truths  are  there,  but 
they  are  very  frequently  acted  upon  without  being 
clearly  realized,  and  practical  persons  are  sometimes 
inclined  rather  to  pride  themselves  on  not  troubling 
with  general  principles,  and  on  confining  themselves 
to  methods  that  they  have  found  to  work.  This  is 
the  attitude  of  the  person  who  works  by  rule  of 
thumb,  and  by  the  results  of  actual  experience  un- 
guided  by  thought.  People  of  this  type  who  have 
acquired  a  knowledge  of  big  words  like  to  call  them- 
selves empirics :  other  people  call  them  quacks. 

It  has  to  be  remembered  that  it  is  possible  to  use 
all  the  machinery  of  thought  and  remain  intensely 
[106] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

practical.  What  is  commonly  called  practical  think- 
ing is  differentiated  from  any  other  kind  of  thinking 
only  by  the  fact  that  it  has  a  definite  practical  end 
which  is  obvious  to  other  people.  But  there  is  only 
one  kind  of  thinking,  whether  the  process  ends  in 
discovering  the  best  way  of  mending  a  boot,  or  in  the 
solution  of  a  metaphysical  problem.  Thinking  has 
been  defined  in  many  ways,  but  the  definition  that 
best  suits  our  present  purpose  is  "the  application  of 
means  to  ends,  so  long  as  we  work  by  means  of 
ideas."  We  cannot  be  said  to  think  when  we  merely 
fumble.  If  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  has  stopped, 
and  we  have  no  idea  how  to  make  it  go  again,  but 
mildly  shake  it  in  the  hope  that  something  will  happen 
to  set  it  going,  we  are  merely  fumbling.  But  if,  on 
moving  the  clock  gently  so  as  to  set  the  pendulum  in 
motion,  we  hear  it  wobbling  about  irregularly,  and  at 
the  same  time  observe  that  there  is  no  ticking  of  any 
kind,  we  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  pendulum 
has  somehow  or  other  escaped  the  little  catch  that 
connects  it  with  the  mechanism,  we  have  been  really 
thinking.  From  the  fact  that  the  pendulum  wobbles 
irregularly  we  infer  that  it  has  lost  its  proper  catch. 
From  the  fact  that  there  is  no  ticking  at  all  we  infer 
the  same  thing,  for  even  when  there  is  something 
wrong  with  the  clock  that  will  prevent  it  from  going 
permanently,  if  the  pendulum  is  set  in  motion  by 
force  from  without  it  will  tick  for  a  few  seconds 
before  it  comes  to  rest  again.  The  important  point 
to  observe  is  that  there  must  be  inference.  This  is 
[107] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

always  indicated  by  the  word  therefore  or  its  equiva- 
lent. If  you  reach  a  conclusion  without  having  to 
use  or  at  any  rate  imply  a  therefore,  you  may  take  it 
for  granted  that  you  have  not  been  really  thinking, 
but  only  jumping  to  conclusions. 

Not  all  fitting  of  means  to  ends  is  thinking.  The 
story  is  told  of  a  man  who  set  out  with  his  dog  to 
have  a  sail.  His  boat  was  about  a  mile  from  home, 
and  when  he  reached  it  he  was  disappointed  to  find 
it  three-quarters  full  of  water.  His  chagrin  was 
increased  when  he  found  that  the  dipper  was  not 
there,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  bale  out  the  water. 
Unwilling  to  walk  the  mile  home  to  fetch  the  dipper, 
he  thought  he  would  enlist  the  services  of  the  dog. 
Looking  at  the  animal,  he  put  his  hollowed  hand  into 
the  water  and  threw  out  a  handful  or  two,  in  the  hope 
that  the  dog  would  understand  that  the  dipper  was 
needed.  The  dog  nodded,  went  home,  and  returned 
with  the  dipper.  This  is  so  wonderful  that  the 
ordinary  reader  is  apt  to  be  a  little  incredulous.  But 
the  story  is  vouched  for  by  a  competent  psychologist 
whose  comment,  however,  is  that  it  was  not  a  case  of 
thinking  at  all,  but  only  the  completing  of  a  picture 
previously  seen  by  the  dog.  On  many  previous 
occasions  the  dog  had  seen  the  same  picture — his 
master,  the  boat,  the  water,  the  dipper,  the  water 
being  thrown  out.  The  picture  on  this  occasion  was 
incomplete,  for  the  dipper  was  lacking.  What  the 
dog  did  was  merely  to  complete  the  picture  to  which 
he  had  become  accustomed.  He  was  fitting  means 
[MB] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

to  ends  no  doubt,  but  not  by  the  use  of  ideas.  There 
was  no  therefore  in  the  case.  Had  there  been  real 
thinking,  it  would  have  gone  something  like  this. 
The  dog  reaches  home,  and  to  his  disappointment 
does  not  find  the  dipper  in  the  outhouse  where  he 
expected  to  see  it.  There  is  nothing  that  looks 
sufficiently  like  the  dipper  to  be  substituted  for  it  on 
its  mere  general  resemblance.  Is  there  anything  else 
that  will  serve  the  master's  purpose?  Well,  there  is 
the  sponge  in  the  bath-room.  If  it  were  dipped  in 
the  water  it  would  take  up  a  great  deal,  which  might 
then  be  squeezed  out,  and  in  this  way  the  boat  might 
be  emptied  almost  as  quickly  with  the  sponge  as 
with  the  dipper.  Had  the  dog  acted  upon  these 
considerations  and  returned  with  the  sponge,  the 
exacting  psychologist  would  have  admitted  that 
there  had  been  a  case  of  thinking. 


CHAPTER  V 


MODE   OF    STUDY 

WHEN  you  go  into  your  study  you  intend  to 
work  with  your  mind,  but  you  must  bring 
your  body  along,  and  the  problem  is  how  to  deal 
with  it  during  the  study  period.  The  least  you  can 
do,  one  would  think,  is  to  treat  it  as  you  would  any 
other  visitor,  and  offer  it  a  chair.  But  not  every 
one  is  of  this  opinion.  There  are  those  who  point 
out  that  it  is  more  profitable  to  stand  than  to  sit 
while  studying,  and  there  are  others  who  go  still 
further,  and  maintain  that  a  certain  amount  of  gentle 
motion  stimulates  the  brain.  Some  students  walk 
up  and  down  the  room  as  they  study,  while  others 
content  themselves  with  some  nervous  motion  or 
other,  such  as  fidgeting  with  their  hands,  resting 
now  on  the  right  leg,  now  on  the  left,  moving  the 
head  from  side  to  side,  twirling  a  pencil  between 
the  fingers — there  is  no  end  to  the  vagaries. 

Now  this  is  one  of  those  cases  in  which  it  is 
dangerous  to  lay  down  hard  and  fast  rules.     What 
is  excellent  for  one,  may  be  disastrous  for  another. 
[IIO] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

All  that  we  can  do  is  to  consider  the  matter  as  a 
whole,  indicate  what  suits  the  greater  number  of 
persons,  and  leave  you  to  make  your  own  applica- 
tions. 

Al  good  deal  depends  upon  whether  you  have  a 
room  of  your  own.  If  you  have  to  study  along 
with  some  one  else,  or  worse  still,  have  to  study 
while  there  are  other  people  in  the  room  doing  the 
ordinary  things  that  people  who  are  not  students 
are  in  the  habit  of  doing,  your  problem  is  greatly 
complicated.  If  you  are  with  another  student  you 
must  make  a  treaty  with  him  offensive  and  defen- 
sive, by  which  certain  fixed  study  periods  are  to 
be  regarded  as  sacred  from  all  interruptions,  and 
during  which  nothing  less  than  sudden  illness  or 
an  alarm  of  fire  will  justify  the  opening  of  a  con- 
versation. Your  time-table  must  be  the  result  of 
agreement  with  your  fellow,  and  must  be  made  the 
basis  of  the  treaty.  How  far  you  should  enter  upon 
cooperative  work  is  a  matter  for  serious  consider- 
ation. A  partnership  in  study  almost  invariably 
resolves  itself  into  one  of  the  partners  becoming 
the  teacher,  and  the  other  the  pupil.  This  is  not 
so  serious  a  drawback  as  it  looks,  for  the  student 
who  turns  out  to  be  the  tutor  does  not  really  lose :  he 
proves  the  truth  of  the  Latin  tag  discimus  docendo, 
for  by  teaching  he  learns:  while  the  student  who 
becomes  pupil  has  obviously  no  right  to  complain. 
A  partnership  is  inadvisable  in  the  case  of  great 
inequality  in  ability  or  attainments  between  the  two 
[in] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

students.  Here  the  pupil-partner  becomes  an  unfair 
drag  upon  the  teacher-partner. 

A  studying  partnership  has  to  be  carefully 
manipulated.  There  is  a  strong  tendency  to  an  un- 
wise division  of  labour.  One  partner  will  keep  the 
text  in  his  hand  and  try  to  worry  out  the  meaning, 
while  his  friend  attends  to  the  dictionary  and  looks 
up  all  the  necessary  words.  The  result  is  that  by 
and  by  each  becomes  a  specialist,  and  does  his  part 
of  the  work  exceptionally  well,  while  he  is  all  at  sea 
in  the  work  of  the  other.  In  a  case  like  this,  the  two 
become  a  kind  of  compound  unit,  a  sort  of  social 
molecule  made  up  of  two  formerly  independent 
atoms.  If  the  object  of  the  partnership  were  the 
production  of  good  translations  in  the  shortest  time, 
then  the  partnership  would  be  justified;  but  since 
the  purpose  is  that  each  should  become  a  well- 
developed  all-around  scholar,  the  plan  of  working 
must  be  modified.  There  must  be  alternation  in 
the  distribution  of  work,  so  that  each  acquires  facility 
in  all  branches. 

There  is  sometimes  a  very  real  advantage  in  co- 
operative study  between  fairly  well  matched  students, 
even  if  they  do  not  have  to  work  together  because 
of  the  necessity  of  using  the  same  room.  This  is 
particularly  the  case  with  private  students.  There 
are  many  points  on  which  mutual  criticism  is  of  the 
utmost  value,  even  though  neither  is  an  authority 
on  the  subjects  studied.  The  value  of  a  fresh  eye 
on  our  difficulties  is  great.  We  have  seen  the  value 

[112] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

of  a  co-worker  in  the  chapter  on  Memory,  and  we 
shall  find  other  cases  under  Reading  and  elsewhere. 
Further  there  are  many  occasions  on  which  we  re- 
quire to  get  an  outsider  to  state  a  case,  or  to  suggest 
a  datum  for  a  problem.  The  private  student  is 
sometimes  in  the  position  of  those  pitiable  people 
who  play  games  against  themselves — left  hand 
against  right — in  which  the  whole  process  is  vitiated 
by  the  fact  that  the  plans  of  both  sides  are  known 
to  both  players.  A  study  partner  may  be  as  welcome 
to  a  student  as  an  opponent  to  an  enthusiastic  chess- 
player eager  for  a  game.  Not  the  least  of  the  func- 
tions of  the  student-partner  is  the  service  he  renders 
as  a  sort  of  external  conscience.  We  are  much  more 
easily  satisfied  with  our  own  excuses  for  slackness 
than  our  partner  is  likely  to  be.  Just  as  a  man's 
wife  is  often  an  objective  conscience  to  him,  so  a 
student's  partner  may  do  much  to  keep  him  up  to 
a  high  level  of  endeavour. 

But  while  we  can  thus  turn  to  a  positive  advantage 
the  presence  of  a  fellow  student  in  our  room,  it  is  a 
case  of  making  the  best  of  a  bad  job  when  we  have 
to  share  a  room  with  other  people  who  have  no 
special  concern  with  our  studies.  If  you  have  to 
work  in  the  common  living  room  at  home,  you  will 
at  least  have  the  advantage  of  some  degree  of  sym- 
pathy with  your  work.  If  there  are  other  members 
of  the  family  who  have  to  be  studying  at  the  same 
time,  you  will  probably  be  in  a  position  to  demand 
a  fair  degree  of  quietness  from  those  who  are  not 
["3] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

studying.  A  common  room  of  this  kind  is  a  useful 
arena  for  struggles  in  self-sacrifice.  But  it  also 
offers  many  opportunities  for  intelligent  manipula- 
tion. You  have  to  examine  very  carefully  all  the 
conditions  of  the  case — especially  the  times  and  needs 
of  the  other  members  of  the  family.  There  is  one 
outlet  that  is  nearly  always  available  unless  the 
family  is  very  poor  indeed.  This  is  the  somewhat 
unpalatable  expedient  of  early  rising.  If  you  have 
to  work  along  with  younger  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  find  that  you  cannot  make  real  progress,  you 
will  find  that  by  going  early  to  bed  and  getting  up 
very  early  in  the  morning  you  are  likely  to  find  all 
the  solitude  you  want.  The  one  condition  is  the  cost 
of  a  fire  on  the  winter  mornings — the  kindling  of 
the  fire  would  be  of  course  your  contribution. 

Coming  now,  however,  to  the  case  of  the  student 
who  has  a  little  room  for  his  own  use,  we  have  to 
settle  the  question  of  the  disposal  of  the  body. 
Speaking  generally  it  is  better  to  sit  than  to  stand. 
To  be  sure  it  is  highly  desirable  to  have  the  means 
of  standing  for  a  little  now  and  then  to  relieve  the 
weariness  resulting  from  long  continued  sitting.  If 
you  can  afford  a  sloping  desk-table  that  is  just 
breast  high  you  will  find  it  a  great  boon  for  general 
reading,  but  particularly  for  consulting  dictionaries 
and  other  heavy  volumes.  The  table  need  consist 
of  nothing  but  four  legs  and  a  sloping  board,  but 
the  board  should  have  a  rim  at  the  lower  end  to 
prevent  books  from  slipping  off. 
[H4] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

With  regard  to  the  kind  of  seat  you  ought  to 
have,  there  is  a  difference  of  opinion.  The  first  view 
is  that  we  ought  to  treat  our  body  severely.  People 
do  not  put  the  matter  quite  so  plainly  as  this,  but 
what  is  clearly  at  the  back  of  their  minds  is  that 
for  sound  study  the  body  ought  to  be  a  little  uncom- 
fortable. The  opposite  view  naturally  is  that  the 
body  ought  to  be  made  as  comfortable  as  possible, 
so  that  the  mind  may  be  left  perfectly  free  to  do 
its  hard  work.  But  neither  view  can  be  pushed  to 
extremity.  No  one  nowadays  would  maintain  that 
the  body  should  be  made  positively  uncomfortable 
so  as  to  help  in  study,  though  there  was  a  time  when 
such  a  view  would  not  have  been  considered  un- 
reasonable. On  the  other  hand,  no  one  would  recom- 
mend that  the  body  should  be  pampered.  The  truth 
naturally  lies  between  the  two.  We  must  not  be 
positively  comfortable:  that  is  we  must  not  be  so 
comfortable  as  to  be  tempted  to  think  about  how 
comfortable  we  are.  You  may  be  quite  comfortable 
sitting  in  an  ordinary  armchair,  but  if  it  is  so  deli- 
ciously  padded  that  you  want  to  snuggle  into  it,  so 
as  to  enjoy  it  the  more,  it  has  passed  the  stage  of 
respectable  comfort.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  chair 
in  which  you  do  your  ordinary  study  should  have  no 
cushion  at  all,  unless  you  find  the  lack  of  a  cushion 
positively  MMComfortable.  For,  after  all,  it  is  your 
body  that  has  got  to  be  considered,  not  the  body  of 
any  one  who  comes  along  to  give  you  advice.  He 
may  prefer  a  hard  chair  when  engaged  in  serious 
[US] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

work.  You  may  find  such  a  chair  a  hindrance.  The 
principle  to  determine  the  matter  is  that  everything 
should  be  done  to  secure  that  the  body  does  not  make 
its  presence  felt  at  all,  either  by  discomfort  or  by 
comfort  so  exuberant  as  to  call  attention  to  itself. 

The  attitude  adopted  during  study  is  of  some 
consequence.  There  is  a  subtle  connection  between 
the  attitude  of  the  body  and  that  of  the  mind. 
Edward  Thring,  the  distinguished  Head  Master  of 
Uppingham,  used  to  speak  often  about  "the  potency 
of  attitude,"  and  pointed  out  that  a  boy  who  came 
up  to  the  blackboard  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
did  not  attack  a  problem  in  geometry  with  anything 
like  the  same  effectiveness  as  his  fellow  who  held 
himself  erect,  and  looked  as  if  he  meant  business. 
Probably  Buffon,  the  celebrated  French  naturalist, 
carried  this  theory  too  far  when  he  made  a  point 
of  always  doing  his  writing  in  full  court  dress, 
sword  and  all.  Yet  there  is  a  certain  connection 
between  the  official  dress,  and  the  stately  style  of  this 
writer.  There  is  said  to  be  a  sort  of  dressing-gown 
frame  of  mind  that  is  apt  to  be  put  on  along  with 
that  soothing  garment.  Naturally  it  is  out  of  the 
question  to  lay  down  any  hard  and  fast  rules  for  the 
dress  of  students.  The  days  of  sumptuary  laws  are 
gone  for  ever :  but  there  is  no  harm  in  calling  atten- 
tion to  possible  dangers.  If  your  temperament  is 
such  as  to  be  greatly  modified  by  your  immediate 
surroundings,  it  will  be  to  your  interest  to  keep  an 
eye  on  your  attitude  as  you  set  about  your  studies. 
[116] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

Better  study  has  been  done  in  old  clothes  than 
was  ever  done  in  court  dress,  but  a  slovenly  attitude 
is  not  necessarily  an  accompaniment  of  old  clothes, 
and  such  an  attitude  is  apt  to  induce  a  slovenly 
mental  attitude  to  match.  Besides,  slovenly  attitudes 
in  over-easy  arm-chairs  are  apt  to  have  an  unwhole- 
some effect  even  from  a  purely  hygienic  point  of 
view.  You  must  be  allowed  to  adopt  whatever 
attitude  you  find  from  intelligent  experiment  to  be 
the  best  for  your  particular  case.  But  you  will  be 
well  advised  to  give  a  long  trial  to  an  attitude  that 
suggests  as  well  as  accompanies  alertness  of  niind. 

Assuming  that  you  have  hit  upon  the  happy  mean 
between  discomfort  and  luxury,  your  next  problem 
is  how  to  carry  on  the  actual  process  of  study.  You 
have  your  books,  your  papers,  and  your  prescribed 
work.  You  have  planned  out  your  time,  and  you 
know  that  you  have  forty  minutes  to  master  a  par- 
ticular bit  of  work.  Let  us  assume  that  this  is  a 
case  of  study  that  is  mainly  assimilative.  You  have 
to  "get  up"  the  reign  of  Henry  VII  of  England  in 
such  a  way  as  will  justify  the  statement  that  "Modern 
History  in  England  begins  with  the  reign  of  Henry 
VII."  You  have  read  the  reign  in  a  general  way 
during  a  previous  course,  so  your  present  study 
takes  the  form  of  revision,  with  the  additional  in- 
centive of  a  definite  thesis  to  be  maintained.  You 
will  first  glance  over  the  various  paragraphs  to 
revive  your  general  impression  of  the  whole,  then 
you  will  select  certain  paragraphs  for  special  atten- 
[II7J 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones   Mind 

tion.  You  pass  rapidly  over  everything  that  treats 
merely  of  local  and  temporary  interests — revolts, 
personations  and  what  not — and  fix  your  attention 
on  the  big  things.  You  note  that  America  was  dis- 
covered in  1492,  that  the  Renaissance  which  may  be 
said  to  have  begun  in  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century  was  producing  its  fruit  when  Henry  came 
to  the  throne,  that  the  Reformation  was  making 
headway  on  the  Continent,  greatly  aided  by  the 
spread  of  books  resulting  from  the  development  of 
printing,  that  the  increased  use  of  artillery  had 
brought  the  knight  down  almost  to  the  level  of  the 
ordinary  man-at-arms  on  the  battle  field.  But  all 
this  you  feel  does  not  specially  concern  England,  so 
you  continue  the  search  for  something  that  brings 
this  material  to  bear  upon  English  life,  and  you 
find  it  in  the  decay  of  the  power  of  the  old  nobility, 
through  the  general  cause  of  the  new  conditions  of 
warfare,  and  the  cause,  special  to  England,  of  the 
decimation  of  the  noble  families  through  the  sangui- 
nary struggles  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses.  You 
give  a  fresh  revision  to  the  paragraphs  that  deal 
with  the  enforcement  of  the  Statute  of  Liveries,  and 
the  revival  of  the  criminal  jurisdiction  of  the  Crown, 
the  New  Learning,  the  Oxford  Reformers ;  and  now 
you  feel  that  you  have  enough  matter  to  sustain  the 
thesis  that  with  Henry  VII  began  such  a  set  of  new 
problems  as  entitles  us  to  say  that  modern  history 
begins  in  England  with  his  reign. 

In  all  this  your  mind  has  moved  backwards  and 
[118] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

forwards  over  the  whole  field,  pausing  sometimes 
here  and  sometimes  there.  Some  paragraphs  have 
had  much  more  of  your  forty  minutes  than  the 
others,  some  have  been  passed  over  almost  unread. 
The  dominating  purpose  of  the  study  has  been  to 
select  the  proper  material  and  deal  with  its  different 
elements  in  the  order  of  their  importance. 

If  your  purpose  had  been  to  master  the  reign  of 
Henry  VII  as  a  whole  and  for  the  first  time,  you 
would  have  proceeded  differently,  since  this  would 
have  been  a  case  of  purely  assimilative  study.  In 
such  a  case  you  would  read  over  the  whole  rapidly, 
but  of  course  not  carelessly,  in  order  to  get  a  general 
idea  of  it.  Then  you  would  select  certain  paragraphs 
for  a  second  reading  because  of  their  difficulty,  or 
because  your  first  reading  showed  them  to  be  im- 
portant. Next  you  would  read  the  whole  over  again, 
giving  as  before  special  attention  to  the  important 
paragraphs  and  noting  anything  that  seemed  to  call 
for  special  treatment.  Then  you  would  proceed  to 
ask  yourself  certain  questions  about  the  whole,  and 
test  whether  you  could  answer  them.  Usually  as  you 
advance  in  a  lesson  of  this  kind  you  have  to  con- 
centrate more  and  more  on  the  uninteresting.  Much 
of  the  striking  material  you  master  in  the  first 
reading.  It  is  a  very  common  mistake  in  preparing 
such  a  lesson  as  this  to  re-read  the  whole  reign 
several  times  in  succession,  giving  the  same  atten- 
tion to  all  the  parts,  the  easy  getting  the  same  atten- 
tion as  the  difficult.  The  secret  of  study  is  to  seize 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

upon  the  important  and  the  difficult  parts,  and 
concentrate  upon  them. 

You  must  of  course  realize  that  your  work  will  be 
judged  by  your  success  in  mastering  your  subject. 
The  test  of  study  is  not  how  long  or  how  hard  you 
have  studied,  but  what  you  have  attained  by  your 
study.  There  is  nothing  that  a  half -conscientious 
schoolboy  likes  better  than  to  get  a  definite  ruling 
from  his  teacher  about  the  amount  of  time  to  be 
given  to  a  particular  lesson.  He  will  innocently 
ask  how  often  he  ought  to  read  over  his  history 
lesson,  or  how  frequently  he  should  repeat  his  multi- 
plication table  in  order  to  satisfy  the  demands  of 
the  school.  The  wise  teacher  never  gives  a  definite 
numerical  answer  to  such  questions.  If  he  does, 
the  boy  will  in  all  probability  accept  his  decision 
and  loyally  go  over  the  lesson  the  exact  number  of 
times  recommended.  But  the  chances  are  that  the 
number  of  repetitions  bulks  too  largely  in  his  mind. 
The  responsibility  is  somehow  shifted  on  to  the 
teacher,  if  only  the  required  number  of  repetitions 
is  given.  If  next  day  the  boy  breaks  down,  he 
may  not  make  any  open  complaint  to  the  teacher, 
but  in  his  heart  he  thinks  that  he  has  been  badly 
treated.  Accordingly  the  wise  teacher  answers  all 
such  demands  for  a  numerical  prescription  by  telling 
the  pupil  that  he  will  have  to  go  over  the  lesson 
often  enough  to  master  it.  The  responsibility  must 
be  left  with  the  pupil. 

The  interesting  thing  is  that  the  intelligent  pupil 

[120] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

does  know  when  he  has  mastered  a  particular  bit 
of  work.  Without  doubt  you  have  felt  this  in  your 
own  experience.  You  have  been  working  at  a  par- 
ticular matter — not  necessarily  a  problem  with  a 
definite  "solution"  that  is  recognized  as  right  the 
moment  it  has  been  reached — for  half  an  hour; 
almost  suddenly  you  realize  that  you  have  mastered 
the  position :  you  "know"  the  lesson.  A  few  minutes 
before,  you  were  quite  well  aware  that  you  did  not 
know  it,  but  now  the  conviction  has  come  to  you 
that  you  do  know  it.  No  one  can  help  you  in  such 
things.  You  must  learn  to  know  your  own  processes 
by  experience.  To  some  extent  this  applies  also  to 
the  way  in  which  you  set  about  learning  anything. 
It  appears  that  we  all  differ  in  our  mode  of  learning, 
and  our  teachers  cannot  lay  down  any  very  definite 
directions  that  we  ought  all  to  follow.  In  some 
cases,  however,  they  can  give  definite  instruction 
about  how  to  carry  out  a  particular  bit  of  work. 

On  one  occasion  a  teacher  told  his  class  that  had 
just  begun  the  study  of  formal  Geography  to  "Draw 
a  map  of  England."  This  was  not  a  very  wise 
proceeding.  The  pupils  had  never  drawn  a  map 
before;  most  of  them  were  quite  at  sea,  and  had  no 
idea  how  to  begin.  I  can  tell  you  exactly  how  one 
of  them  began.  He  examined  the  map  in  his  atlas, 
and  noticed  that  it  was  made  up  of  a  great  number 
of  little  rectangles.  He  did  not  know  that  these 
were  made  by  the  crossing  of  the  meridians  and  the 
parallels  of  latitude.  So  he  carefully  measured  off 
[121] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones   Mind 

each  of  these  little  rectangles,  and  completed  as  much 
of  England  as  lay  within  each.  In  other  words  he 
proceeded  to  make  a  map  of  England  as  if  it  were 
a  sort  of  geographical  crazy  quilt.  The  teacher  told 
the  class  afterwards  that  he  could  not  understand 
how  any  boy  could  be  so  stupid  as  to  do  such  a  thing. 
But  this  complaint  was  not  very  sensible.  It  is  a 
teacher's  business  to  understand  how  pupils  can  do 
stupid  things.  But  it  is  also  your  business,  so  far 
as  you  take  yourself  in  hand,  to  learn  to  avoid 
foolish  beginnings  like  this  little  boy's.  He  did  not 
really  face  the  problem  as  a  whole.  A  careful 
examination  of  his  atlas  would  have  shown  him 
that  England  was  not  made  up  of  separate  seg- 
ments: that  there  was  a  continuity  of  outline:  that 
the  thin  lines  making  up  the  rectangles  were  con- 
tinuous, and  that  these  lines  could  be  most  comfort- 
ably drawn  by  measuring  the  spaces  between  them 
at  the  top  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  map,  and  then 
joining  by  straight  lines  the  marks  made  at  the  top 
with  the  corresponding  marks  at  the  bottom.  The 
same  thing  being  done  with  the  horizontal  lines,  he 
would  have  found  the  little  rectangles  very  useful 
as  guiding  lines  in  his  drawing  out  the  contour. 

We  shall  have  other  examples  of  the  folly  of 
beginning  a  problem  with  no  knowledge  of  what  is 
really  wanted.  The  teacher  cannot  be  expected  to 
state  every  detail  of  a  problem,  but  the  problem 
itself  must  be  made  quite  clear,  and  the  pupil  should 
never  be  in  the  least  doubt  about  what  is  required 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

of  him.  Though  the  teacher  cannot  be  expected  to 
give  detailed  instructions  about  the  working  out  of 
problems,  he  can  at  least  give  some  very  general 
directions  that  are  applicable  to  all  cases  of  study. 
For  example,  he  can  warn  his  pupils  against  the 
most  dangerous  habit  of  all — the  habit  of  inattention. 
When  we  say  that  a  person's  wits  are  wool-gather- 
ing, we  mean  that  his  mind  has  wandered  away 
from  the  matters  in  hand.  No  human  being  will 
ever  succeed  in  study  or  in  anything  else  who  allows 
this  habit  to  grow  upon  him.  This  does  not  mean 
that  we  must  be  on  the  stretch  all  the  time,  that  we 
must  never  allow  the  mind  to  wander  at  ease  among 
the  'things  of  the  past  and  the  distant.  There  is  a 
place  for  reverie;  and  even  day-dreaming  is  not 
altogether  to  be  condemned.  The  important  thing  is 
that  during  the  period  that  you  profess  to  be  studying 
you  must  study.  Wool-gathering  during  study-time 
is  fatal  to  all  chance  of  success.  One  hour's 
strenuous  study  is  worth  three  during  which  there 
are  occasional  lapses  into  reverie  or  day-dreaming. 
Students  are  very  apt  to  point  out  how  many  hours 
they  study  per  day.  But  this  is  meaningless  unless 
we  understand  what  kind  of  study  it  has  been.  It 
is  quite  possible  to  read  a  book  and  to  turn  over 
the  pages  systematically  as  you  reach  the  bottom 
of  each,  and  yet  to  know  nothing  of  what  you  are 
reading.  A  student  of  the  wool-gathering  type  may 
be  reading  a  textbook  in  preparation  for  an  examina- 
tion. He  is  actually  following  the  words  on  the 
[123] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

page,  for  the  observer  can  note  how  his  eyes  move 
backwards  and  forwards.  Yet  if  a  sheet  of  paper 
be  thrust  between  his  eyes  and  the  book,  and  he  is 
asked  some  question  on  the  text,  it  will  be  found 
that  he  does  not  in  the  least  know  what  he  has  been 
reading  about.  His  attention  has  been  elsewhere  all 
the  time.  This  kind  of  study  is  not  only  useless; 
it  is  worse  than  useless,  for  it  actually  cultivates 
the  lack  of  power  to  concentrate  our  attention  at 
will. 

Those  who  write  on  such  matters  quarrel  a  good 
deal  about  the  naming  and  nature  of  the  different 
kinds  of  attention.  They  talk  about  voluntary 
attention,  involuntary  attention,  non-voluntary  atten- 
tion, spontaneous  attention.  But  for  our  purposes 
it  is  enough  to  have  two  kinds  of  attention — one 
that  implies  effort  and  one  that  does  not.  Many 
things  we  attend  to  naturally,  easily,  and  without 
the  least  effort.  This  kind  of  attention  may  be 
called  spontaneous.  But  there  are  many  things  that 
we  find  it  necessary  to  attend  to  that  are  not  in 
themselves  attractive.  If  they  are  to  get  a  fair  share 
of  our  attention  we  must  make  an  effort,  we  must 
exercise  our  will.  That  is  why  this  kind  of  effortful 
attention  is  commonly  called  voluntary.  This  adjec- 
tive does  not  mean  that  we  attend  willingly:  we 
would  much  more  willingly  attend  to  more  attrac- 
tive things.  It  means  rather  that  we  attend  by 
force  of  will:  we  compel  ourselves  by  sheer  will- 
power to  attend  to  things  that  are  in  themselves 
[124] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

unattractive,  because  we  realize  that  these  unattrac- 
tive things  are  very  important  for  us. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  voluntary  attention  is  a 
higher  form  than  spontaneous,  and  that  therefore 
the  student  should  seek  to  rise  from  spontaneous 
attention  to  the  voluntary  form.  But  it  might  be 
more  truly  said  that  the  object  of  education  is  to 
enable  the  pupil  to  pass  from  the  voluntary  form 
of  attention  to  the  spontaneous.  Surely  it  cannot 
be  the  aim  of  either  teacher  or  pupil  to  do  something 
that  will  make  attention  more  difficult.  The  better 
educated  the  student,  the  more  easily  ought  he  to 
be  able  to  direct  his  attention  wherever  he  chooses. 

The  relation  between  spontaneous  and  voluntary 
attention  will  be  better  understood  when  we  consider 
the  meaning  and  place  of  what  is  called  interest. 
Certain  things  appeal  to  us,  draw  out  our  sympathy, 
rouse  us  to  pursue  them,  all  because  in  some  way 
they  concern  us.  Interest  literally  means  being 
mixed  up  with  or  connected  with  something.  What- 
ever in  any  way  affects  our  activities  is  of  interest 
to  us.  We  are  not  to  suppose  that  to  be  interesting 
is  the  same  as  to  be  pleasing.  We  are  interested  in 
a  great  many  things  that  are  extremely  unpleasant. 
There  is  probably  no  place  in  the  world  more  inter- 
esting than  the  dentist's  chair.  There  you  have  no 
difficulty  in  maintaining  attention.  No  effort  of  will 
is  required.  Your  attention  is  perfectly  spontaneous. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  things  go  farther  than  that.  Not 
only  do  you  need  no  effort  of  the  will  to  attend,  but 
[125] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

you  are  made  to  attend  practically  against  your 
will.  Very  gladly  would  you  attend  to  something 
else,  but  the  circumstances  of  this  case  compel  you 
to  attend  to  what  the  dentist  is  doing.  This  kind 
of  attention  you  may  call,  if  you  like,  involuntary 
attention,  or  attention  against  the  will.  Still,  there 
are  only  the  two  kinds  of  attention  that  are  important 
so  far  as  we  are  concerned.  For  in  spontaneous 
attention  there  is  no  exercise  of  the  will  at  all, 
whereas  in  voluntary  attention  the  will  is  always 
making  an  effort.  In  what  is  called  involuntary 
attention  the  will  desires  to  attend  to  something, 
say  a,  and  is  compelled  to  attend  to  something  else, 
say  b.  It  implies  effort,  though  unsuccessful  effort. 
It  is  therefore  of  fundamental  importance  to  learn 
what  help  we  can  get  in  our  struggles  to  keep  our 
attention  fixed  in  whatever  direction  we  may  desire. 

Experiments  have  been  made  to  determine  how 
long  we  can  maintain  attention  by  the  sheer  exercise 
of  the  will,  that  is  how  long  we  can  attend  to  some- 
thing that  has  no  interest  whatever  for  us.  Suppose 
you  concentrate  your  attention  on  some  totally  un- 
interesting thing,  say  the  point  of  a  needle,  how 
long  do  you  think  you  can  maintain  this  voluntary 
attention?  Remember  you  are  to  attend  to  nothing 
else  but  the  point  of  the  needle.  You  are  not  to 
think,  for  example,  of  the  use  of  the  needle,  or  the 
pain  that  the  point  would  produce  if  you  pricked 
your  finger  with  it,  or  of  the  owner  of  the  needle, 
or  its  maker,  or  its  price,  or  its  material — but  merely 
[126] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

of  the  point  of  the  needle.  You  will  find  that  even 
by  a  violent  effort  you  are  able  to  maintain  this  sort 
of  unnatural  attention  for  only  a  few  seconds  at  a 
time.  After  that,  either  your  mind  wanders  around 
the  subject,  seeking  for  points  of  interest,  or  you 
become  dazed  and  find  yourself  attending  to  nothing 
at  all. 

If,  then,  you  can  use  pure  voluntary  attention  for 
only  a  few  seconds  at  a  time,  it  is  surely  impossible 
to  carry  on  your  studies  by  this  means.  The  truth 
is  that  unless  spontaneous  attention  comes  to  the  aid 
of  voluntary  attention,  steady  study  is  impossible. 
It  is  certainly  true  that  voluntary  attention  marks 
a  higher  level  than  spontaneous.  Unless  we  are  able 
to  exercise  voluntary  attention  we  can  hardly  claim 
to  be  the  captains  of  our  own  souls,  and  we  are  not 
to  think  that  the  very  limited  time  during  which  we 
can  maintain  pure  voluntary  attention  in  any  way 
diminishes  the  importance  of  this  form.  Its  function 
is  to  give  direction  to  the  activities  of  the  mind. 
The  helm  is  not  the  most  imposing  part  of  a  ship, 
and  yet  it  controls  all  the  rest.  Voluntary  attention 
plays  the  part  of  helm.  It  turns  our  activities  in 
this  way  and  in  that,  but  it  depends  upon  other 
forces  to  supply  the  motive  power.  Interest  is  the 
driving  power  that  corresponds  to  the  wind  in  the 
case  of  a  sailing  ship,  and  to  steam  or  electricity  in 
the  case  of  the  other  kinds.  The  moment  interest 
is  introduced  the  attention  ceases  to  be  purely  volun- 
tary and  becomes  to  some  extent  at  least  spontaneous. 
[127] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

The  more  interest  the  greater  the  degree  of 
spontaneity. 

When  you  sit  down  to  a  disagreeable  subject, 
you  are  unable  to  get  up  much  interest,  and  in 
consequence  you  have  to  depend  largely  upon  volun- 
tary attention.  You  work  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
then  find  that  your  attention  has  wandered.  You 
pull  yourself  together,  and  compel  yourself  once 
again  to  attend.  The  less  interesting  the  subject 
the  more  frequently  you  must  use  the  whip  of  volun- 
tary attention.  Any  little  interest  that  you  can  get 
up  in  the  subject  is  of  the  greatest  possible  help. 
Unfortunately  interest  is  a  treacherous  ally :  it  works 
on  both  sides.  It  distracts  as  well  as  helps  to  con- 
centrate. If  in  working  at  your  textbook  in  Physics 
you  find  yourself  reading  the  advertisements  at  the 
end,  or  if  in  dealing  with  an  arithmetical  problem 
about  the  cost  of  papering  a  room  you  find  yourself 
wondering  about  the  colour  of  the  paper  and  the 
sort  of  man  who  is  going  to  live  in  that  room,  interest 
has  played  you  false.  But  of  the  two  it  is  note- 
worthy that  the  first  lapse  is  much  worse  than  the 
second.  There  is  less  connexion  between  Physics 
and  the  advertisements  than  between  the  colour  of 
the  paper  and  the  wall  space  of  the  room.  There  is 
less  hope  for  the  student  who  listlessly  turns  the 
pages  of  the  book  than  for  the  one  who  only  allows 
his  imagination  a  little  too  free  scope  in  playing 
around  his  problem. 

Fortunately  for  the  student,  interest  has  a  tendency 
[128] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

to  rise  out  of  the  very  material  studied,  whenever 
enough  time  is  allowed  for  it  to  develop.  It  is  the 
function  of  the  voluntary  attention  to  secure  this 
opportunity  for  interest  to  develop.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  a  period  of  study  in  a  disagreeable  subject 
the  appeal  to  the  voluntary  attention  is  rather  fre- 
quent. The  mind  is  continually  letting  itself  wander 
and  needs  repeated  calls  to  order.  But  as  the  work 
goes  on  the  periods  of  spontaneous  attention  increase 
in  length,  and  by  and  by  there  is  need  for  only  an 
occasional  appeal  to  the  voluntary  attention. 

There  is  a  fact  in  natural  history  that  is  often 
used  to  encourage  young  people  to  face  disagree- 
able work.  At  least  I  hope  it  is  a  fact,  for  I  cannot 
say  that  I  have  ever  verified  it  on  its  literal  side. 
We  are  told  that  if  we  deal  with  a  nettle  gingerly 
we  get  badly  stung,  but  if  we  "grip  it  lil^e  a  man  of 
mettle"  we  escape  all  disagreeable  consequences. 
However  it  may  be  with  nettles,  it  is  undoubtedly 
true  that  firm  treatment  of  disagreeable  subjects 
leads  quite  rapidly  to  an  amelioration  in  the  dis- 
agreeableness.  It  is  probably  the  swing  effect  more 
than  anything  else  that  eases  our  way,  and  it  is 
obvious  that  the  fewer  relapses  into  other  matters 
the  greater  the  chance  of  the  swing  to  establish 
itself.  The  effort  at  the  beginning  is  great — there 
is  no  sense  in  blinking  the  disagreeable  fact — but 
the  reward  is  in  proportion.  There  are  few  joys 
to  surpass  the  satisfaction  we  experience  when  we 
wake  up  to  discover  that  we  have  been  absorbed 
[129] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

for  half  an  hour  in  a  subject  that  we  dislike.  Yet 
this  absorption  is  the  almost  inevitable  result  of 
the  resolute  struggle  against  distraction  during  the 
first  quarter  of  an  hour  of  a  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  period  of  dealing  with  an  unattractive  subject. 
Talking  of  being  absorbed  in  a  subject  raises  the 
question  of  the  possibility  of  maintaining  attention 
at  the  same  level  all  the  time.  Experiments  in 
psychological  laboratories  have  shown  that  attention 
is  rhythmic,  it  has  a  regular  rise  and  fall.  There 
are  beats  of  attention  just  as  there  are  beats  of  the 
heart.  As  we  have  the  alternation  between  inspira- 
tion and  expiration  in  breathing,  so  we  have  an 
alternation  between  concentration  and  diffusion  in 
the  process  of  attention.  In  fact  some  psychologists 
maintain  that  there  is  a  definite  connexion  between 
the  beats  of  attention  and  the  rhythm  of  breathing. 
That  there  is  some  connexion  between  breathing  and 
attention  is  plain  to  all,  and  is  acknowledged  by  the 
very  words  we  use  in  describing  attention.  Do  we 
not  speak  of  "breathless  attention"?  Are  we  not 
all  familiar  with  the  gasp  that  the  crowd  gives  on  the 
finish  of  a  particularly  striking  display  of  fireworks? 
The  brilliant  lights  command  such  concentrated  at- 
tention that  we  all  hold  our  breath  till  the  lights  die 
down,  and  our  attention  is  once  more  set  free.  But 
this  more  or  less  physical  side  of  attention,  though 
interesting  to  us,  cannot  be  manipulated  to  our  ad- 
vantage. It  is  little  good  to  say  to  ourselves,  "Now 
I  want  to  attend :  so  I  shall  hold  my  breath."  It  is 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

rather  the  attention  that  causes  the  holding  of  the 
breath  than  the  holding  of  the  breath  the  attention ; 
though  perhaps  the  best  way  of  putting  it  is  to  say 
that  the  two  form  part  of  one  whole,  and  cannot  be 
dealt  with  separately. 

There  is,  however,  another  form  of  rhythm  of 
attention  in  which  the  rhythm  is  not  quite  so  regular, 
but  in  which  we  have  greater  power  of  control. 
When  we  are  studying  a  subject  we  are  apt  to  think 
that  the  concentration  beats  are  what  really  matter, 
and  that  the  diffusion  beats  are  really  periods  of  rest. 
When  we  watch  a  painter  at  work  we  observe  him 
going  up  to  his  canvas  and  putting  in  some  fine 
touches  with  a  delicate  brush.  This  is  his  concen- 
tration beat,  and  we  are  inclined  to  say  to  ourselves, 
"Ah,  now  this  is  working,  this  is  the  real  thing!" 
By  and  by  he  strolls  back  a  bit  from  the  canvas  and 
takes  in  the  general  effect.  "This,"  we  say,  "is  the 
diffusion  beat,  no  doubt.  He  is  having  a  rest.  We 
don't  grudge  him  the  relaxation.  But  of  course  it 
isn't  work."  But  this  is  where  we  go  wrong.  The 
artist  may  be  working  just  as  hard,  and  may  be 
using  up  quite  as  much  grey  matter  in  the  brain 
when  he  estimates  the  general  effect  from  a  little 
distance  as  when  he  is  working  at  close  quarters  and 
peering  into  the  canvas.  When  we  say  that  attention 
has  two  beats,  we  must  not  forget  that  both  beats 
are  beats  of  attention.  We  are  not  to  suppose  that 
the  concentration  beat  means  the  presence  of  atten- 
tion and  the  diffusion  beat  its  absence.  To  be  sure, 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

we  do  have  this  alternation  between  attention  and 
distraction.  When,  for  example,  we  are  beginning 
a  disagreeable  subject,  we  have  already  seen  that 
every  now  and  again  we  have  wandered  off  to  some- 
thing else.  This  implies  a  real  loss  of  attention  to  the 
subject  we  are  studying,  and  we  have  to  depend 
upon  voluntary  attention  to  bring  us  back  to  the 
point  at  which  we  strayed  away  from  our  subject. 
But  in  a  case  in  which  we  are  attending  to  the  same 
subject  throughout  a  whole  lesson  period,  and  have 
no  strayings  away  from  the  subject  in  hand,  we 
have  yet  a  more  or  less  regular  alternation  of  the 
concentration  and  diffusion  beats. 

The  word  concentration  is  perhaps  a  little  mis- 
leading here.  We  are  too  apt  to  think  that  attention 
always  means  concentration  on  a  small  area.  A 
geologist  has  two  main  kinds  of  work:  one  is  done 
in  the  field,  the  other  in  the  laboratory.  When 
you  meet  a  geologist  at  work  in  the  field,  you  are 
very  likely  to  make  the  mistake  of  thinking  that 
he  is  out  merely  for  a  stroll.  He  may  have  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  he  may  be  leaning  over  a  gate 
and  apparently  doing  nothing  but  taking  in  the 
beauty  of  the  scenery.  He  may  even  be  smoking  as 
he  goes  along.  If,  however,  you  visit  him  in  his 
laboratory,  you  may  quite  likely  find  him  poring 
over  a  microscope,  or  at  the  very  least  busy  with 
little  specimens  of  minerals  to  which  he  is  giving  his 
close  attention.  This  you  feel  to  be  work.  This  is 
what  you  understand  by  concentration.  But  you 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

have  to  realize  that  concentration  is  a  matter  of  the 
mind,  and  not  of  the  area  over  which  the  mind  is 
working.  A  man's  mind  may  be  as  concentrated  in 
trying  to  take  in  the  meaning  of  a  whole  landscape, 
as  in  seeking  to  identify  a  particular  mineral  under 
the  microscope.  Indeed  even  in  connexion  with  the 
microscope  students  are  sometimes  misled  into  think- 
ing that  there  is  greater  attention  implied  in  using 
the  high  powers  than  the  low.  But  in  using  the 
seventy  power,  the  observer  may  be  attending  quite 
as  intently  as  when  using  the  eleven  hundred  power. 
No  doubt  the  higher  power  may  imply  a  greater 
amount  of  physical  strain  on  account  of  the  dimin- 
ished quantity  of  light.  But  this  is  a  matter  of 
physical  conditions  rather  than  mental. 

Concentration,  then,  we  are  to  regard  as  referring 
to  the  whole  subject  we  are  studying  at  any  time. 
To  understand  that  subject  we  may  have  to  take 
now  a  wide,  now  a  narrow  view.  But  so  long  as 
we  do  not  lose  sight  of  the  main  object  we  have 
before  us  we  can  claim  to  be  attending  all  the  time. 
Attention  may  be  diffused  as  to  its  area  but  con- 
centrated as  to  its  purpose.  With  this  explanation 
we  may  be  perhaps  permitted  to  use  the  terms 
concentration  beat  and  diffusion  beat,  to  indicate 
the  narrower  or  wider  area  to  which  attention  is 
applied. 

In  spite  of  all  that  has  been  said,  it  is  probable 
that  you  have  at  the  back  of  your  mind  the  feeling 
that  after  all  real  attention  is  the  kind  that  is  marked 
[133] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

by  a  screwing  up  of  your  forehead  and  a  severe 
limitation  of  the  area  within  which  you  restrict  your 
thoughts.  On  your  side  is  the  evidence  of  a  French 
savant  who  maintains  that  the  broad  muscle  that 
forms  the  brow  is  the  special  muscle  set  apart  to 
give  expression  to  the  state  of  attention.  But  you 
can  pucker  your  brow  over  a  wide  area  as  well  as 
over  a  narrow  one,  and  you  may  get  some  justifica- 
tion for  respecting  the  diffusion  beat  by  considering 
that  we  must  know  not  only  the  details  of  anything 
that  we  are  studying,  but  we  must  know  that  thing 
in  its  relations  to  other  things.  In  our  thinking  we 
pass  through  three  stages,  the  thing  stage,  the  law 
stage,  and  the  system  stage.  Children  and  savages 
are  mainly  at  the  thing  stage.  They  examine  each 
thing  by  itself  and  think  of  it  as  something  by  itself 
apart  from  all  its  surroundings.  More  mature  think- 
ing demands  to  know  the  relations  between  individual 
things  and  their  surroundings.  We  concentrate  on 
each  thing  no  doubt,  but  immediately  thereafter  we 
let  our  minds  play  around  it  and  try  to  find  out  how 
the  thing  stands  in  relation  to  other  things.  It  is 
this  playing  around  a  subject  that  forms  the  diffu- 
sion beat.  When  Shakespeare  is  giving  an  account 
of  the  various  qualities  that  make  up  man's  excel- 
lence, he  includes  "looking  before  and  after,"  and 
Shelley  in  his  turn  makes  use  of  the  same  expression 
to  emphasize  man's  superiority.  It  is  because  we 
can  look  before  and  after  that  we  are  able  to  under- 
stand our  surroundings.  We  do  not  live  from  mere 
[134] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

moment  to  moment.  We  let  our  minds  play  around 
all  that  is  submitted  to  them,  and  in  this  way  get 
to  a  truer  knowledge.  The  concentration  beat  gives 
us  the  details  of  an  individual  fact,  but  when  we 
start  looking  before  and  after  in  order  to  understand 
the  true  meaning  of  the  fact,  we  find  ourselves  in 
the  diffusion  beat. 

Obviously  both  beats  are  essential  to  intelligent 
study.  We  must  get  up  thoroughly  each  detail  that 
is  of  importance,  but  we  must  also  learn  what  the 
importance  of  this  detail  is,  and  how  it  fits  in  with 
the  other  details  that  make  up  the  whole  subject  of 
study.  In  learning  grammar,  for  example,  it  is  not 
uncommon  for  the  pupil  to  get  up  all  about  the  sub- 
stantive, then  all  about  the  adjective,  then  all  about 
the  pronoun,  and  so  on,  without  bringing  all  this 
knowledge  together.  Successful  teachers  never  allow 
this  to  happen.  They  are  continually  referring  back- 
wards and  forwards  and  showing  the  relation  of  all 
the  facts  that  have  been  learned.  This  is  why  revi- 
sion, that  you  are  apt  to  find  so  dreary,  is  so  very 
valuable.  It  is  a  systematic  looking  before  and  after, 
a  deliberate  organization  of  the  facts  that  we  have 
mastered. 

Certainly  there  must  be  no  paltering  with 
thoroughness.  But  it  is  absolutely  essential  that  we 
should  realize  exactly  what  we  mean  by  this  term. 
There  is  great  danger  that  by  misunderstanding  its 
true  meaning  we  may  make  serious  mistakes  in  the 
conduct  of  our  studies. 

[135] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

To  begin  with,  there  are  occasions  when  we  have 
no  doubt  at  all  in  the  matter.  Certain  facts  have 
to  be  mastered.  That  is  they  have  to  be  so  thoroughly 
studied  that  they  become  parts  of  our  very  being. 
Facts  that  have  to  be  turned  into  faculty  are  of  this 
kind.  The  multiplication  table,  the  declensions  of 
nouns  and  the  paradigms  of  verbs,  the  exact  memo- 
rizing of  verses  or  other  verbal  formulae  that  are 
admitted  to  be  worth  memorizing — all  these  exem- 
plify material  that  has  to  be  thoroughly  assimilated. 
In  dealing  with  them  we  are  not  specially  called  upon 
to  look  before  and  after.  They  have  to  be  mastered. 
Thoroughness  demands  this. 

But  some  things  are  not  worth  getting  up  in  this 
thorough  fashion.  Certain  details  in  history,  for 
example,  are  very  valuable,  since  they  give  a  clear 
idea  of  the  conditions  under  which  important  events 
have  happened.  But  they  are  not  so  important  as 
those  important  events  themselves.  The  terms  of 
Magna  Charta,  or  of  the  Constitutions  of  Clarendon, 
have  to  be  mastered  because  of  their  intrinsic  im- 
portance. But  a  great  many  details  have  to  be 
considered  in  order  to  enable  us  to  understand  the 
conditions  under  which  these  documents  were  drawn 
up.  In  studying  history,  therefore,  the  student  will 
naturally  discriminate  between  what  is  essential  and 
what  is  merely  scaffolding. 

It  is  dangerous  to  say  anything  that  even  seems 
to  depreciate  thoroughness.  Poor  human  nature  is 
only  too  willing  to  take  advantage  of  anything  that 
[136] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

gives  it  the  slightest  encouragement  to  adopt  the 
easiest  course.  In  what  follows  you  will  please 
keep  clearly  in  mind  that  what  you  are  being  warned 
against  is  not  thoroughness,  but  a  pseudo-thorough- 
ness, a  thoroughness  that  is  out  of  place.  In  an 
admirable  but  now  out-of-date  book  for  the  use  of 
students  (The  Student's  Manual)  the  Rev.  John 
Todd  has  the  following  passage  in  a  chapter  entitled 
Study: 

"Passing  over  a  field  of  study  has  been  compared  graphi- 
cally to  conquering  a  country.  If  you  thoroughly  conquer 
everything  you  meet,  you  will  pass  on  from  victory  to  victory ; 
but  if  you  leave  here  and  there  a  fort  or  a  garrison  not 
subdued,  you  will  soon  have  an  army  hanging  on  your  rear, 
and  your  ground  will  soon  need  reconquering.  Never  pass 
over  a  single  thing,  however  minute  or  apparently  of  little 
consequence,  without  understanding  all  that  can  be  known 
about  it.  He  who  accustoms  himself  to  pass  over  a  word  or 
sentence,  or  a  single  point  of  mathematical  inquiry,  without 
thoroughly  understanding  everything  that  can  be  known  about 
it,  will  soon  be  known  as  an  inaccurate  scholar." 

The  application  is  that  no  difficulty  should  be 
left  till  it  is  thoroughly  mastered.  Instead  of  press- 
ing on  to  new  matter  the  student  is  recommended  to 
sit  down  before  a  difficulty,  as  a  general  would  lay 
siege  to  a  fortress.  The  difficulty  must  be  mastered 
or  the  fortress  taken  before  any  advance  is  made. 
Even  in  warfare  it  is  doubtful  whether  this  policy  is 
always  a  wise  one.  To  the  lay  mind  at  any  rate  it 
appears  as  if  the  experience  of  the  English  generals 
during  the  great  Boer  War  rather  damages  the 
[137] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

claims  of  the  principle.     But  in  any  case  in  respect 
of  study  the  Rev.  John  Todd  was  wrong. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  what  he  really  meant. 
He  was  so  afraid  of  students  shirking  genuinely 
hard  work  that  he  laid  down  his  severe  rule.  It  is 
only  a  variant  of  the  usual  warning  that  there  is  no 
royal  road  to  learning.  Todd  is  right  in  not  giving 
way  to  those  who  hold  out  hopes  of  a  primrose  path. 
Difficulties  must  be  faced :  the  nettle  must  be  grasped. 
But  the  question  arises:  Must  it  be  now?  To  the 
man  who  knows  human  nature,  such  a  question  will 
be  recognized  as  the  most  dangerous  form  in  which 
the  problem  could  be  put.  There  is  nothing  so 
insidiously  undermining  to  strength  of  character  as 
this  plea  of  justifiable  procrastination.  We  are  all 
so  willing  to  postpone  the  evil  hour  that  we  welcome 
with  something  like  enthusiasm  the  recommendation 
of  any  one  who  ventures  to  advise  delay.  But  here 
I  have  no  claim  to  deserve  such  an  enthusiastic 
reception.  I  have  no  comforting  advice  in  the  way 
of  avoiding  difficulties.  I  admit  that  they  must  be 
faced,  faced  promptly,  faced  dourly.  But  we  must 
not  be  foolishly  dour.  "Dogged  does  it,"  no  doubt, 
"but  it  does  not  always  do  it  intelligently.  There 
may  be  other  ways.  There  may  be  a  way  round. 
We  must  not  make  the  mistake  of  the  English 
officers  at  the  beginning  of  the  Boer  War, .and  sacri- 
fice our  energies  by  an  heroic  but  unprofitable  frontal 
attack.  Our  object  is  success  in  our  studies,  success, 
no  doubt,  in  overcoming  any  particular  difficulty, 

[138] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

but  more  important  still,  success  in  our  study  as  a 
whole.  We  must  husband  'our  resources,  and  use 
them  to  the  best  advantage.  If  we  have  faced  a 
difficulty  squarely,  worked  our  way  all  round  it, 
looked  at  it  from  every  point  of  view,  and  can  still 
make  nothing  of  it,  we  are  not  well  advised  to  sit 
down  before  it,  and  wait  for  something  to  turn  up. 
Yet  if  we  are  to  follow  the  advice  of  the  Rev.  John 
Todd,  that  is  all  that  is  left  for  us  to  do. 

It  has  to  be  admitted  that  up  to  a  certain  point 
he  is  entirely  in  the  right.  We  must  not  pass  over 
any  element  of  the  problem  as  unimportant ;  we  must 
see  that  we  understand  all  the  details,  and  we  must 
realize  which  are  the  points  that  we  do  not  under- 
stand. It  is  one  thing  not  to  understand  a  detail,  it 
is  another  to  know  that  there  is  a  detail  that  we  do 
not  understand.  It  is  not  always  possible  to  follow 
the  counsel  never  to  pass  over  a  detail  "without 
thoroughly  understanding  everything  that  can  be 
known  about  it,"  but  it  is  always  a  point  gained 
when  we  are  able  to  note  that  there  is  something 
that  we  do  not  understand.  We  have  made  no 
inconsiderable  advance  when  we  know  that  we  have 
a  difficulty  to  face.  For  it  is  sometimes  possible  to 
know  and  understand  all  the  details  of  a  problem 
without  realizing  that  there  is  a  problem  at  all. 

Granted  that  we  know  that  we  are  face  to  face 
with  a  serious  difficulty,  we  want  to  know  how  to 
face  it.  I  find  that  the  great  d'Alembert,  the  editor 
of  the  famous  French  Encyclopedic,  gave  this  advice 

[139] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

to  young  mathematical  students  when  they  come  up 
against  the  disheartening  wall  that  so  often  rears 
itself  up  before  them:  "Have  faith,  and  go  ahead!" 
It  is  pleasant  to  find  that  M.  Fabre,  the  distinguished 
naturalist  already  quoted  in  our  first  chapter,  has 
followed  his  countryman's  advice,  with  a  result  that 
strengthens  our  view  as  against  that  of  the  Rev.  John 
Todd.  Speaking  of  the  serious  difficulties  in  his 
mathematical  studies,  M.  Fabre  says: 

"Faith  I  had,  and  I  went  on  pluckily.  And  it  was  well  for 
me  that  I  did,  for  I  often  found  behind  the  wall  the  enlighten- 
ment that  I  was  seeking  in  front  of  it.  Giving  up  the  bad 
patch  as  hopeless,  I  would  go  on  and,  after  I  had  left  it 
behind,  discover  the  dynamite  capable  of  blasting  it.  'Twas 
a  tiny  grain  at  first,  an  insignificant  ball,  rolling  and  increas- 
ing as  it  went.  From  one  slope  to  another  of  the  theorems 
it  grew  to  a  heavy  mass;  and  the  mass  became  a  mighty 
projectile  which,  flung  backwards  and  retracing  its  course, 
split  the  darkness  and  spread  it  into  one  vast  sheet  of  light. 

"D'Alembert's  precept  is  good  and  very  good,  provided 
you  do  not  abuse  it.  Too  much  precipitation  in  turning 
over  the  intractable  page  might  expose  you  to  many  a 
disappointment.  You  must  have  fought  the  difficulty  tooth 
and  nail  before  abandoning  it.  This  rough  skirmishing  leads 
to  intellectual  vigour."1 

In  order  to  avoid  abusing  d'Alembert's  advice, 
we  must  ask  ourselves  the  question:  "How  long 
must  I  wrestle  with  an  apparently  insoluble  problem 
before  I  can  give  it  up  with  honour?"  The  answer 
is  that  we  are  never  entitled  to  give  it  up  at  all, 
unless,  as  in  the  case  of  perpetual  motion  or  the 

lThe  Life  of  the  Fly,  p.  332, 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

squaring  of  the  circle,  it  can  be  proved  that  a  solu- 
tion of  the  problem  is  impossible.  I  have  no  com- 
fort to  give  the  lover  of  ease.  There  is  no  good 
saying  Peace,  when  there  is  no  peace.  But  while  we 
must  make  up  our  minds  never  to  give  up  a  soluble 
problem,  it  does  not  follow  that  we  should  spend 
time  unprofitably  over  it.  Attack  the  problem  as 
vigorously  as  you  can,  but  do  not  suspend  all  your 
other  operations  merely  to  lay  siege  to  it.  A  time 
comes  when  it  is  advantageous  to  make  a  note  of  our 
temporary  failure,  and  move  on.  What  -we  want 
to  learn  in  each  case  is  when  that  time  for  raising 
the  siege  has  arrived.  Now  in  dealing  with  a  prob- 
lem, we  may  be  said  to  pass  through  three  stages, 
marked  by  the  degree  of  freedom  with  which  we 
can  manipulate  the  materials  at  our  disposal. 

At  the  first  stage  we  bring  forward  a  great  deal 
of  matter  with  which  we  are  quite  familiar.  We 
know  exactly  what  each  bit  of  it  means :  our  mind 
moves  easily  among  the  elements  and  we  do  not 
have  to  reason  about  it  at  all.  We  are  here  in  the 
region  of  observation.  We  note  certain  things  and 
know  exactly  what  the  bearings  of  those  things 
are.  As  you  get  into  the  hall  on  returning  home 
you  say,  "I  see  Jack's  got  back."  As  a  matter  of 
fact  you  see  nothing  of  the  kind.  What  you  do  see 
is  a  hat  and  a  walking-stick.  But  they  speak  so 
plainly  that  you  do  not  need  to  think  about  their 
meaning.  You  really  infer  from  the  hat  and  stick, 
that  Jack  must  be  in  the  house,  but,  as  the  conclu- 

[141] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

sion  is  so  easily  drawn,  the  whole  process  is  regarded 
as  a  matter  of  observation,  and  we  say  that  we  see 
or  observe  that  Jack  is  at  home.  This  stage  may 
then  be  called  the  observation  stage. 

The  second  stage  is  marked  by  conscious  infer- 
ence, and  may  therefore  be  called  the  inference 
stage.  Here  we  are  dealing  with  things  that  we 
understand,  but  do  not  know  intimately.  We  have 
to  consider  each  fact  and  draw  conclusions  from  it, 
and  in  this  way  make  progress.  The  work  may  be 
slow,  but  we  know  where  we  are.  We  may  not  be 
successful  at  first,  but  if  one  way  of  dealing  with  the 
problem  fails  us,  we  try  something  else.  We  at 
least  know  what  to  do  next.  This  inference  stage 
is  the  most  usual  and  interesting  one  in  our  studies. 
Sometimes  the  inference  is  easy,  sometimes  it  is 
difficult.  But  we  know  when  we  are  making  prog- 
ress. We  know  when  we  encounter  a  gap  in  our 
knowledge,  and  we  know  how  to  fill  that  gap.  We 
keep  our  eyes  and  ears  open,  we  ask  questions,  we 
read  books,  we  use  all  the  means  in  our  power  to 
reach  the  end  we  have  in  view.  For  at  this  stage  we 
always  do  know  definitely  the  precise  object  of  our 
study. 

In  some  cases,  however,  the  problem  becomes  so 
difficult  that  we  begin  to  lose  our  way  altogether. 
It  may  arrive  at  that  point  at  which  it  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  materials  at  our  disposal.  When  a 
Frenchman  comes  to  this  stage  he  says  that  he  is 
at  the  end  of  his  Latin.  He  has  done  all  he  can 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

think  of,  and  does  not  know  what  to  do  next.  So 
long  as  we  can  go  on  asking  questions  and  making 
intelligent  experiments,  we  are  still  at  the  stage  of 
inference,  though  we  may  be  getting  into  the  upper 
regions  of  inference  where  the  air  is  very  rare  and 
it  is  difficult  to  breathe.  But  when  we  have  no  more 
definite  questions  to  ask,  and  no  specific  experiments 
to  suggest,  we  have  reached  what  I  like  to  call  "the 
gaping  point."  People  often  find  themselves  at  the 
gaping  point  in  dealing  with  a  very  badly  written 
letter  they  have  received.  After  making  all  manner 
of  inferences  based  upon  the  post-mark,  and  the 
signature,  and  whatever  words  they  are  able  to  make 
out,  there  comes  a  time  when  there  is  nothing  more 
to  be  done  than  gape  at  the  letter,  turn  it  upside 
down,  look  at  it  sideways,  carry  it  about  in  the 
pocket,  and  occasionally  pull  it  out  quickly  to  see  if 
by  any  chance  it  is  possible  to  take  it  by  surprise, 
and  get  at  the  meaning.  It  is  when  we  have  reached 
the  gaping  point  that  the  time  has  come  for  making 
a  move  away  from  the  problem.  When  we  have 
reached  the  stage  at  which  we  do  not  know  what  to 
do  next,  we  have  obviously  come  to  a  point  at  which 
further  study  of  the  problem  is  only  a  waste  of  time. 
By  and  by,  no  doubt,  something  will  turn  up  that 
may  throw  light  on  the  subject  and  suggest  a  new 
line  of  investigation,  but  in  the  meantime  we  are 
merely  wasting  time  by  gaping. 

As  a  young  teacher  I  had  a  class  in  technical 
drawing  for  skilled  artisans.     My  pupils  used  to 

[143] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

bring  me  drawings,  that  had  been  given  them  for 
their  guidance,  and  get  me  to  explain  them.  As  a 
rule  I  found  the  drawings  easy  enough  to  interpret, 
but  on  one  occasion  a  huge  drawing  in  Perspective 
was  handed  to  me  as  I  left  the  class  in  the  evening, 
for  explanation  next  day.  After  supper  I  laid  out 
the  drawing  on  my  table,  and  in  twenty  minutes  I 
understood  it  all  except  one  little  three-quarters  of 
a  circle  at  one  of  the  vision  points.  I  could  not 
understand  what  part  it  played  in  the  whole  scheme  : 
it  appeared  absolutely  useless.  But  experience  in 
drawings  of  this  kind  had  taught  me  that  everything 
has  a  meaning,  and  I  had  read  the  Rev.  John  Todd. 
Accordingly  I  settled  myself  down  to  the  siege  of 
this  difficulty.  Hour  after  hour  passed  without 
bringing  any  enlightenment,  and  at  length  in  the 
early  morning,  with  an  internal  apology  to  the  Rev. 
John  Todd,  I  capitulated  and  started  to  roll  up  the 
sheet.  To  my  surprise  the  tiny  three-quarters  of  a 
circle  moved.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  hair  from  my 
moustache.  It  was  then  that  my  suspicions  were 
aroused  about  the  siege  system  of  learning. 

Take  the  case  of  a  passage  in  a  foreign  language. 
At  first  you  move  easily  enough  among  the  nouns 
and  verbs  and  adjectives.  You  know  what  most 
of  them  mean,  and  you  know  their  ordinary  agree- 
ments among  themselves.  You  find,  however,  that 
there  are  some  words  that  you  do  not  know.  The 
dictionary  is  at  hand  and  this  difficulty  disappears. 
There  may  still  be  some  little  trouble  about  a  con- 
[144] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

cord  or  an  inflection,  but  in  general  terms  you  feel 
that  you  know  the  run  of  the  passage.  By  and  by, 
however,  you  observe  that  there  is  a  combination  of 
words  that  do  not  make  sense.  You  look  at  each 
individual  word,  and  find  that  you  know  them  all. 
The  grammatical  details  seem  all  in  order.  Yet 
there  remains  a  persistent  lack  of  meaning :  the  pas- 
sage has  no  sense.  But  you  are  not  yet  reduced  to 
extremity.  You  look  up  in  your  dictionary  all  the 
words,  however  familiar,  that  appear  in  the  trouble- 
some part,  for  experience  has  shown  you  that  com- 
mon words  have  sometimes  a  special  meaning  that 
the  dictionary  is  good  enough  to  disclose.  For  ex- 
ample, in  a  French  passage,  the  word  Monsieur  is 
so  commonplace  as  to  rouse  no  suspicion.  It  is  the 
last  word  in  the  passage  that  you  would  look  for 
trouble  about.  Yet  when  every  other  word  has 
established  its  bona  fides  and  you  turn  this  up  in 
hopeless  depression,  you  get  the  key  to  the  whole 
passage  when  the  dictionary  tells  you  that  this  word 
was  formerly  used  (with  a  capital — but  you  had  paid 
no  attention  to  this  trifling  peculiarity  in  your  search 
after  meaning)  to  denote  the  eldest  of  the  King's 
brothers.  But  suppose  you  have  no  luck  in  the 
dictionary,  and  after  all  your  efforts  you  remain 
baffled,  and  do  not  know  what  to  do  next,  you  have 
reached  your  gaping  point.  It  is  time  to  move  on. 

You  have  made  a  note  of  your  defeat.     You  are 
depressed  about  it,  and  probably  a  little  angry.    All 
this  is  to  the  good.     You  are  in  a  fighting  mood, 
[1451 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

and  determined  sooner  or  later  to  get  the  better  of 
the  recalcitrant  passage.  Not  infrequently  you  will 
find  consolation  sooner  than  you  expect.  It  is  not 
uncommon  to  find  on  the  next  page  some  remark  or 
other  that  makes  quite  plain  what  formerly  was 
unintelligible.  When  you  are  dealing  with  the  indi- 
vidual passage  you  have  of  course  done  a  good  deal 
of  looking  before  and  after,  but  you  have  been 
limited  by  your  ignorance  of  what  is  to  come  in 
the  text.  Your  making  an  advance  after  you  have 
recognized  that  you  have  reached  your  gaping  point 
is  in  fact  only  an  extension  of  the  process  of  looking 
before  and  after.  You  are  taking  a  wider  view,  and 
sooner  or  later  this  wider  view  will  include  some- 
thing that  throws  light  upon  the  difficulty  you  have 
temporarily  abandoned. 

Since  you  who  read  this  book  have  taken  your 
own  education  in  hand  you  have  become  an  edu- 
cator, and  therefore  ought  to  be  interested  in  the 
methods  of  teaching  that  are  presented  to  teachers 
at  their  colleges.  Unfortunately  most  of  these 
methods  demand  two  persons  that  are  separate  from 
one  another.  They  are  not  usually  such  as  can  be 
applied  by  a  person  like  yourself  combining  the  two 
characters  of  educator  and  educand.  But  there  are 
two  special  methods  that  have  something  to  teach 
you,  even  though  you  cannot  apply  them  to 
perfection. 

The  first  of  these  is  named  the  Socratic  Method, 
after  a  Greek  philosopher  who  flourished  in  Athens 
[146] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

at  the  end  of  the  fifth  century  B.  c.  You  remember 
that  I  pointed  out  already  that  it  is  often  the  teacher's 
business  to  make  his  pupils  take  trouble.  Socrates 
realized  this  with  special  clearness,  and  spent  most 
of  his  time  trying  to  get  his  fellow  citizens  in  Athens 
to  think  for  themselves.  His  plan  was  to  get  into 
conversation  with  some  of  them,  and  ask  them  the 
meaning  of  words  that  they  used  glibly  enough  but 
did  not  fully  understand.  His  view  was  that  as 
soon  as  we  clearly  understand  the  terms  we  use,  we 
are  on  the  direct  way  to  right  thinking.  Accord- 
ingly he  made  them  see  by  his  conversation  that 
they  did  not  know  exactly  the  meaning  of  the  terms 
they  were  using,  and  then  set  them  about  finding 
out  the  true  meaning.  He  would  ask  his  friends 
what  justice  was,  or  temperance,  or  truth.  They 
would  answer  easily  enough  at  first,  but  he  would 
go  on  to  raise  difficulties  and  could  easily  show  that 
their  meanings  were  not  quite  accurate.  They  would 
change  one  meaning  for  another,  and  with  that  too 
he  had  some  fault  to  find,  and  by  and  by,  after  many 
trials,  they  would  discover  that  they  really  did  not 
know  what  the  meaning  of  the  word  was.  When 
they  had  reached  this  stage  he  would  go  on  asking 
more  and  more  questions,  till  at  last  he  led  them  to 
find  out  for  themselves  the  true  meaning  of  the 
word. 

You  will  thus  see  that  in  the  Socratic  method 
there  are  three  stages  in  the  experience  of  the  pupil. 
He  begins  by  being  quite  confident,  though  he  has 
[147] 


Making    the    Most    of  Ones   Mind 

no  cause  to  be  confident.  By  and  by  he  becomes 
confused,  and  reaches  a  state  of  doubt.  After  that 
he  comes  to  the  third  stage,  which  again  is  one  of 
confidence,  but  this  time  it  is  a  confidence  that  has 
a  good  foundation.  A  peculiarity  that  marked  the 
teaching  of  Socrates  was  that  he  always  professed 
that  he  never  really  taught  anybody  anything.  All 
that  he  did  was  to  enable  people  to  find  out  things 
for  themselves.  Obviously  to  carry  out  this  method 
properly  it  is  essential  to  have  a  teacher  who  stands 
outside  of  us  altogether,  and  by  his  questions  gets  us 
to  think  in  a  particular  way.  The  teacher  is  sup- 
posed to  know  beforehand  all  that  the  pupil  is  after- 
wards to  learn.  For  Socrates'  affectation  of  igno- 
rance was  only  a  pose.  He  knew  quite  well  whither 
his  teaching  was  tending,  but  for  dramatic  effect  he 
proclaimed  that  he  himself  did  not  know,  he  just 
asked  for  information.  This  is  what  is  called  the 
Socratic  irony.  It  was  used  because  he  had  to 
deal  with  the  very  intelligent  and  rather  conceited 
Athenians,  and  much  of  his  teaching  had  no  higher 
aim  than  to  make  these  Athenians  realize  the  possi- 
bility that  they  might  be  wrong.  Now  to  some 
extent  it  is  possible  for  us  to  use  the  Socratic  method 
with  ourselves.  On  a  famous  occasion  Cromwell 
made  the  appeal  to  certain  persons : 

"I  beseech  you,  in  the  bowels  of  Christ,  think  it  possible 
you  may  be  mistaken." 

Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  the  readers  of  this 
[148] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

book  have  no  need  to  have  such  a  prayer  addressed 
to  them  ?  Assuming  then  that  we  do  not  need  to  be 
convinced  of  our  fallibility,  we  may  be  able  to  use 
the  method  of  asking  ourselves  questions  with  the 
honest  purpose  of  finding  out  how  matters  stand 
in  relation  to  what  we  are  studying.  This  plan  of 
putting  questions  to  ourselves  is  only  a  way  of -ex- 
pressing what  is  always  going  on  in  our  minds  when 
we  are  dealing  with  a  problem.  Young  pupils  when 
set  to  write  a  short  essay  are  often  quite  at  a  loss 
what  to  say.  Teachers  of  junior  forms  in  school 
sometimes  hit  upon  the  plan  of  telling  their  pupils 
to  put  internal  questions  to  themselves,  and  then 
write  out  the  answers.  The  answers  when  written 
down  do  make  up  some  sort  of  essay.  The  arrange- 
ment is  usually  rather  bad.  But  so  soon  as  the 
youngsters  have  written  down  a  sheet  of  answers, 
they  find  that  they  have  some  material  to  go  upon. 
They  acquire  confidence,  and  by  rearranging  what 
they  have  written  down  and  adding  what  occurs. to 
them  in  the  process,  they  are  generally  able  to  pro- 
duce passable  work. 

You  have  seen  that  Socrates  did  his  best  to  mini- 
mize his  work  as  a  teacher.  But  there  is  another 
method  of  teaching  that  urges  the  teacher  to  do  still 
less  for  the  pupil  than  Socrates  did.  After  all  he 
set  the  problem,  and  kept  up  a  running  fire  of 
questions.  The  method  known  as  Heuristic  recom- 
mends the  teacher  to  leave  everything  to  the  pupils 
after  the  problem  has  been  clearly  stated.  The  word 

[149] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

heuristic  means  literally  finding  out,  and  the  method 
has  been  described  as  the  method  of  causing  children 
to  find  out  things  for  themselves.  In  schools  this 
method  is  applied  mainly  in  science  teaching,  but  it 
need  not  be  confined  to  science  subjects.  What 
makes  it  specially  interesting  to  readers  of  this  book 
is  that  it  throws  the  whole  responsibility  of  investi- 
gation upon  the  pupil.  The  method  is  not  a  new  one, 
and  has  been  associated  with  very  distinguished 
names,  among  them  Rousseau  and  Burke.  But  in 
recent  years  it  has  been  brilliantly  advocated  by 
Professor  Henry  E.  Armstrong.1  He  tells  me  that 
on  one  occasion  his  daughter,  then  a  little  girl,  had 
been  reading  Professor  Drummond's  book  called 
The  Monkey  That  Would  not  Kill.  Among  the 
wonderful  escapes  of  this  monkey  was  one  from 
drowning.  He  had  been  cast  into  the  sea  with  a 
stone  tied  round  his  neck,  and  thought  it  was  all 
over  with  him ;  but  to  his  surprise  he  found  that  the 
stone  was  not  nearly  so  heavy  in  the  sea  as  it  was 
on  land,  so  he  was  able  to  get  ashore.  The  little 
girl  asked  her  father  if  it  was  true  that  a  stone  was 
not  so  heavy  in  the  water  as  it  is  outside  the  water. 
This  is  a  question  that  Professor  Armstrong  regards 
it  as  "criminal"  to  answer,  since  to  do  so  wastes  an 
excellent  opportunity  of  applying  the  heuristic 
method.  So  his  reply  was,  "Suppose  we  try  to  find 
out."  Thereupon  began  a  series  of  experiments, 
made  by  the  little  girl  and  recorded  by  her  in  an 
*The  Teaching  of  Scientific  Method,  Chap.  xv. 
[ISO] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

exercise  book  that  I  am  in  hopes  to  see  published 
one  day. 

Here  we  have  a  very  definite  case  in  which  we 
know  exactly  what  the  problem  is.  We  may  not 
be  able  to  answer  the  question  we  have  set  ourselves, 
but  at  any  rate  we  are  in  no  doubt  about  what  the 
question  means.  There  is  nothing  more  hopeless 
or  more  futile  than  to  put  in  a  period  of  study 
without  knowing  exactly  what  we  are  aiming  at. 
In  such  a  case  we  do  not  reach  the  gaping  point, 
after  a  series  of  efforts  to  solve  a  problem.  We 
start  at  the  gaping  point.  Some  teachers  are  very 
punctilious  in  stating  at  the  beginning  of  every  lesson 
what  the  exact  aim  of  the  lesson  is.  Obviously  this 
is  not  always  essential.  Not  much  good  is  done  by 
announcing  at  the  beginning  of  a  lesson  on  the  Latin 
verb  volo,  "The  purpose  of  this  lesson  is  to  master 
all  the  irritating  peculiarities  of  the  irregular  verb 
volo."  It  is  clear 'that  the  heuristic  method  is  applic- 
able only  to  constructive  study.  There  is  nothing 
to  find  out  in  a  purely  assimilative  lesson.  But  in 
constructive  study  it  is  hardly  possible  to  overesti- 
mate the  importance  of  setting  before  yourself  the 
definite  end  or  purpose  you  have  in  view. 

Very  frequently  time  is  wasted  by  the  student  in 
merely  fumbling  with  a  problem.  Unless  we  have  a 
clearly  imaged  end,  there  is  great  danger  of  merely 
fiddling  about  with  the  elements  of  a  problem.  Some 
students  feel  that  when  they  are  studying  they  must 
be  doing  something.  In  one  particular  school  with 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

which  I  was  acquainted,  it  was  counted  an  offence 
"not  to  have  something  on  your  paper."  The  effect 
of  this  was  that  even  if  a  pupil  had  no  idea  how  to 
work  a  particular  problem,  he  had  to  write  down 
something — a  most  pernicious  habit.  Writing  non- 
sense is  necessarily  bad  for  any  one.  No  doubt  it  is 
very  unpleasant  to  sit  at  your  desk  and  gnaw  the  end 
of  your  pen,  but  you  do  not  improve  matters  by 
scribbling  down  meaningless  words.  This  criticism 
naturally  does  not  apply  so  long  as  you  have  the 
least  idea  of  getting  at  a  result  by  a  series  of  trials. 
Your  attempts  may  be  far  from  hopeful,  but  so 
long  as  they  have  a  definite  object  they  are  justifi- 
able. So  soon,  however,  as  you  have  no  definite 
purpose  in  what  you  do,  you  can  no  longer  be  said 
to  study  in  any  real  sense. 


CHAPTER  VI 


READING 

WE  have  seen  that  reading  is  one  of  the  three 
main  ways  of  acquiring  knowledge.  But 
when  we  take  up  a  book,  it  is  not  always  for  the 
sake  of  learning  something.  Often  we  read  for 
amusement ;  but  even  in  such  reading  we  cannot  fail 
to  pick  up  much  knowledge  by  the  way.  Reading 
a  novel  is  really  equivalent  to  experiencing  at  second 
hand.  The  man  who  writes  such  a  book  must  him- 
self know  a  great  many  things  about  the  circum- 
stances of  the  characters  he  introduces,  and  as  you 
read  his  descriptions  you  cannot  but  acquire  knowl- 
edge. The  information  gathered  from  a  novel  may 
be  inaccurate,  but  this  does  not  alter  the  fact  that 
we  cannot  read  a  novel  without  some  effect  upon  our 
stock  of  knowledge.  Nor  does  the  influence  of 
novels  stop  at  mere  knowledge.  In  higher  matters, 
too,  we  learn  from  them.  The  lessons  may  be  for 
good  or  for  evil,  but  lessons  there  are.  We  have 

[153] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

to  admit  that  there  is  point  in  Dr.  Walter  C.  Smith's 
protest  about — 

"Those  new-fangled  consciences  of  ours, 
Formed  not  by  nature  but  by  novels." 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  reading  cannot  help 
influencing  our  lives,  since  in  the  wider  sense  inter- 
course must  include  reading;  after  all,  reading  is  a 
form  of  intercourse.  Indeed  the  great  advantage 
of  literature  is  that  it  enables  us  to  keep  company 
with  the  greatest  minds  of  all  time.  It  is  true  it 
has  to  be  admitted  that  it  is  a  rather  lopsided  inter- 
course. We  are  all  made  to  feel  the  unresponsiveness 
of  the  mere  book.  In  our  endeavours  to  educate 
ourselves  we  ought  to  recognize  the  necessity  of 
actual  human  intercourse.  This  idea  is  introduced 
here  because  it  is  mainly  in  connexion  with  reading 
that  the  great  distinction  is  usually  drawn  between 
the  private  student  and  the  student  who  obtains  his 
education  in  a  school  or  college.  The  University 
of  London,  for  example,  has  two  kinds  of  students. 
The  internal  students  are  those  who  belong  to  some 
of  the  institutions  connected  with  the  University, 
who  receive  instruction  there  under  teachers  recog- 
nized by  the  University,  and  who  are  not  admitted 
to  examination  for  degrees  till  they  have  made  the 
necessary  attendances,  and  are  certified  by  their 
teachers  as  having  done  satisfactory  work.  The 
external  students,  on  the  other  hand,  can  study 
where  they  please;  they  may  have  teachers,  or  they 

[154] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

may  do  the  whole  of  their  work  privately;  all  that 
the  University  demands  is  that  they  shall  pass  the 
prescribed  examinations  and  thus  show  that  they 
have  obtained  the  minimum  amount  of  knowledge 
necessary  to  win  the  degree.  External  students, 
whatever  their  disadvantages,  must  reach  exactly 
the  same  standard  as  the  internals,  so  that  from 
one  point  of  view  the  winner  of  an  external  de- 
gree deserves  more  credit  than  the  winner  of  an 
internal. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  objected  that  the  external 
student  loses  something  because  he  does  not  mix  with 
other  students.  He  may  have  a  private  tutor,  and 
thus  share  the  advantages  of  teaching  enjoyed  by 
his  internal  rivals,  but  it  is  maintained  that  he  is  at  a 
disadvantage,  because  he  has  not  had  the  benefit  of 
intercourse  in  the  college  class-rooms,  common- 
rooms,  quadrangles,  and  playing  fields.  It  is  no 
doubt  highly  desirable  that  a  student  should  mix 
with  his  fellows.  What  he  learns  from  his  books 
is  one  thing,  what  he  learns  from  his  teachers  is 
another;  but  his  fellow  students  have  still  a  third 
kind  of  training  to  give  him,  and  wherever  possible 
he  should  avail  himself  of  the  training  that  only 
his  fellows  can  provide. 

The  external  student  who  has  no  teacher  is  apt 
to  over-emphasize  the  value  of  reading :  he  is  apt  to 
become  bookish.  But  there  are  other  things  to  be 
acquired  than  the  knowledge  to  be  found  in  books. 
People  get  a  certain  ease  and  polish  from  mingling 
[155] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

with  one  another,  and  besides  this  they  acquire  the 
power  of  applying  what  knowledge  they  possess. 
Many  men  who  are  full  of  knowledge  are  very 
awkward  in  their  everyday  life,  and  are  unable  to 
use  their  knowledge  to  the  best  advantage.  It  is 
generally  found  that  people  who  get  their  knowledge 
entirely  from  books,  and  mix  little  with  their  fel- 
lows, are  at  a  disadvantage  in  life.  They  are  called 
bookworms,  and  are  generally  regarded  as  unprac- 
tical persons.  They  are  not  at  home  with  other 
people.  They  are  uncomfortable  in  society  and  make 
other  people  uncomfortable.  The  remedy  of  course 
is  not  to  give  up  reading,  but  to  combine  reading 
with  that  amount  of  intercourse  that  enables  them  to 
use  with  effect  what  they  have  acquired  from  books. 

Perhaps  it  is  not  unnecessary  to  add  that  all  this 
warning  against  being  too  bookish  is  rather  danger- 
ous reading  for  many  internal  students.  As  a  rule 
these  find  it  easy  to  resist  the  temptation  to  read  too 
much.  What  they  need  in  most  cases  is  an  exhorta- 
tion to  read  more.  The  matter  is  put  before  you 
squarely :  it  is  for  you  to  determine  in  which  direc- 
tion your  danger  lies. 

In  any  case  you  must  read  a  great  deal.  It  is 
accordingly  of  the  highest  importance  that  you 
should  learn  all  that  there  is  to  be  known  about  it. 
At  the  very  start  we  have  to  consider  what  may  be 
called  the  mechanism  of  reading.  It  consists  essen- 
tially in  the  translation  of  visual  signs  into  mental 
states.  One  person  thinks,  and  to  represent  his 
[156] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

thought  causes  certain  marks  to  be  put  on  paper  or 
elsewhere.  Another  person  sees  these  marks  and 
repeats  in  his  mind  the  processes  that  went  on  when 
the  other  thought.  The  first  thing  to  be  noticed  in 
this  passage  from  printed  characters  to  thought 
processes  is  the  time  element.  We  do  not  sufficiently 
realize  the  great  differences  in  the  speed  with  which 
different  people  read.  Experiments  have  been  made, 
and  it  is  found  that  when  great  numbers  of  people 
are  tested,  they  differ  so  widely  that  the  fastest 
readers  can  read  six  times  quicker  than  the  slowest. 
Naturally  we  want  to  know  the  cause  of  this 
enormous  difference.  No  doubt  the  natural  endow- 
ment of  the  individual  has  a  good  deal  to  do  with 
the  different  rates  of  speed.  Some  are  naturally 
quicker  than  others  in  all  their  mental  and  physical 
reactions.  But  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  it  is 
merely  a  matter  of  Quick  Wits  and  Hard  Wits 
again.  A  quick-witted  boy  in  Ascham's  sense  of 
the  term  may  not  be  a  particularly  quick  reader. 
His  strong  point  is  quickness  of  apprehension.  As 
soon  as  a  point  is  put  before  him  he  understands  its 
bearing.  He  will  learn  quicker  from  a  book  than 
would  a  slower-witted  boy,  but  he  does  not  neces- 
sarily read  faster. 

Many  teachers  are  inclined  to  say  that  the  slow- 
ness of  reading  that  sometimes  marks  quite  quick- 
witted people  results  from  the  bad  way  in  which 
reading  is  taught  in  schools.  At  school  what  is 
technically  known  as  a  reading  lesson  is  always  a 

[157] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

lesson  in  reading  aloud.  No  doubt  at  the  early 
stages  of  learning  to  read  it  is  necessary  to  have 
a  certain  amount  of  audible  reading  in  order  that 
the  teacher  may  know  that  the  pupil  is  really  follow- 
ing word  by  word  the  passage  that  is  being  read. 
But  it  does  not  follow  that  this  method  should  be 
kept  up  all  the  way  through  school.  For  instance, 
when  the  tests  were  made  to  discover  the  speed  of 
reading  they  did  not  take  the  form  of  reading  aloud. 
The  investigator's  object  was  not  to  discover  which 
of  the  persons  tested  could  gabble  off  most  quickly 
a  given  passage.  The  test  was  how  long  each  person 
took  to  master  the  contents  of  a  certain  number  of 
pages.  The  person  had  not  to  pronounce  each  word 
or  even  to  isolate  each  word  in  his  mind.  What 
he  had  to  do  was  to  elicit  the  complete  sense  of  the 
passage. 

Many  people,  even  when  they  are  reading  silently, 
pronounce  "to  themselves"  each  of  the  words  as  it 
occurs.  Some  go  further  and  make  a  half  audible 
sound.  Those  who  sit  beside  such  readers  are 
annoyed  by  a  sort  or  irregular  hissing  sound  that  is 
kept  up  all  the  time.  Even  in  the  case  of  those 
who  make  no  audible  sound  it  is  often  possible  to 
detect  by  the  movements  of  the  lips  those  who  pro- 
nounce inwardly  the  words  as  they  read.  All  such 
lip  movements  are  an  interference  with  the  speed 
of  reading.  You  should  accordingly  get  some  friend 
to  observe  you  when  you  are  off  your  guard,  and  tell 
you  whether  you  use  lip  movements  as  you  read. 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

If  you  find  that  you  do  make  such  movements,  it 
will  be  worth  your  while  to  practise  reading  without 
them. 

Some  authorities  are  beginning  to  recommend 
that  reading  should  be  taught  merely  with  a  view 
to  making  out  the  sense,  and  with  no  attempt  at 
pronouncing  the  words.  Others  point  out  that  the 
main  function  of  reading  is  to  bring  out  the  expres- 
sion the  author  put  into  the  words.  J.  G.  Herder, 
for  example,  recommended  that  Homer  should  be 
read  as  if  he  were  singing  in  the  streets.  Obviously 
we  have  here  a  quarrel  that  arises  because  the  dis- 
putants are  speaking  of  different  things.  One  set 
wants  the  pupils  to  acquire  speed  in  rapidly  getting 
the  meaning  of  a  passage,  the  other  set  wants  the 
pupil  to  acquire  the  power  of  bringing  out  the  full 
content  of  the  passage  for  the  benefit  of  both  himself 
and  others.  What  we  are  primarily  concerned  with 
at  present  is  the  first  purpose,  the  power  to  dig  out 
of  a  passage  in  the  shortest  possible  time  all  the 
information  it  has  to  give  us.  By  reading  in  this 
sense  we  mean  reading  so  as  to  acquire  knowledge. 
Enjoyment  and  expression  will  have  their  turn 
afterwards. 

Schools  are  beginning  to  recognize  the  need  for 
training  in  this  practical  kind  of  reading.  Pupils 
must  still  read  aloud,  as  this  gives  a  certain  training 
of  the  vocal  organs,  and  besides  is  preparatory  to 
the  artistic  use  of  reading ;  but  they  are  also  getting 
practice  in  "silent  reading."  A  passage  is  pre- 
[159] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

scribed,  and  a  certain  time  allowed.  At  the  end 
of  this  time  the  pupil  has  to  state  how  far  he  has 
read,  and  then  stand  an  examination  on  the  subject- 
matter.  It  is  claimed  that  this  method  should  help 
in  reducing  the  tendency  to  lip  movements.  Those 
who  take  this  view  say  that  pupils  rapidly  acquire 
the  power  of  gathering  in  the  meaning  entirely  by 
the  eye,  and  get  rid  of  the  handicap  of  muscular 
movements  or  attempts  to  move.  Suppose  you  find 
that  in  reading  you  are  given  to  lip  movements  and 
set  about  suppressing  them,  you  will  probably  find 
that  you  experience  certain  tensions  in  your  throat 
that  you  can  associate  with  the  suppressed  attempt 
to  pronounce  internally  the  words  that  you  are  read- 
ing. It  is  obviously  greatly  to  your  advantage  to 
get  rid  of  these  abortive  muscular  movements.  They 
waste  time  and  direct  energy  into  wrong  channels. 
The  best  way  to  get  rid  of  these  tensions  is  to 
increase  the  speed  of  your  reading.  As  this  speed 
increases,  you  will  probably  find  that  you  have  a 
tendency  to  drop  the  word  as  the  unit  of  language, 
and  to  adopt  the  phrase  as  that  unit.  That  is,  the 
mind  begins  to  take  in  the  meaning  of  the  whole 
passage  without  pausing  on  the  individual  words  at 
all.  Very  quick  readers,  indeed,  seem  to  take  in 
the  sense  not  even  by  phrases  but  by  sentences. 
In  truth,  there  are  those  who  claim  to  gulp  down 
meaning  by  paragraphs. 

Your  first  business  will  be  to  find  out  your  present 
rate  of  reading,  that  is  your  maximum  rate  of  read- 
[160] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

ing  as  a  purely  mechanical  process  of  absorbing 
meaning.  The  question  is,  how  many  words  you  can 
read  per  minute  and  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
passage  you  are  dealing  with.  Take  some  ordinary 
book  of  no  great  difficulty.  Let  it  be  on  history, 
biography,  travels — anything  you  like,  so  long  as  it 
is  not  so  technical  as  to  demand  study  rather  than 
reading.  Now  count  the  number  of  words  on  each 
of  five  ordinary  full  pages.  You  will  find  that  the 
number  of  words  is  approximately  the  same  on  each 
page,  but  to  make  quite  sure  add  your  numbers 
together  and  divide  by  five.  This  will  give  you  the 
average  number  of  words  per  page.  Then  open  the 
book  at  random  and  read  as  strenuously  as  you  can 
for,  say,  ten  minutes.  If  possible,  get  some  friend 
to  watch  the  time  for  you,  so  that  you  may  give 
your  whole  attention  to  the  reading  without  being 
distracted  by  keeping  your  eye  on  the  clock.  You 
will,  of  course,  read  silently,  and  you  will  remember 
that  your  purpose  is  to  get  the  sense  of  the  passage. 
You  are  reading  for  information,  not  for  style  or  for 
anything  else.  When  the  time  is  up  you  will  count 
the  number  of  complete  pages  that  you  have  read 
and  multiply  this  number  by  the  average  number 
of  words  per  page.  Next,  to  this  total  you  will  add 
the  number  of  words  you  have  read  on  the  unfinished 
page:  for  it  is  very  unlikely  that  you  will  chance 
to  be  just  at  the  end  of  a  page  when  the  time  is  up. 
Having  thus  obtained  the  exact  number  of  words 
you  have  read  in  ten  minutes,  all  you  have  to  do  is 
[161] 


Making    the    Most    of   One's    Mind 

to  divide  this  number  by  ten,  and  you  get  your  rate 
per  minute. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  guess  at  all  accurately 
what  your  rate  may  be,  since  people  differ  so  very 
much.  It  is  interesting  to  know  that  solemn  public 
speakers  utter  on  an  average  one  hundred  words  per 
minute ;  ordinary  speakers  one  hundred  and  twenty ; 
quick  speakers  one  hundred  and  fifty;  and  very 
quick  speakers  sometimes  rise  to  two  hundred  and 
even  go  a  trifle  beyond  that  rate.  But  silent  reading 
should  be  very  much  quicker  than  reading  aloud. 
You  should  be  disappointed  if  you  do  not  reach  three 
hundred  words  per  minute.  Mr.  Arnold  Bennett, 
in  his  little  book  called  The  Truth  about  an  Author, 
estimates  the  rate  of  an  average  reviewer's  reading 
as  eight  words  per  second,  which,  of  course,  gives 
480  per  minute.  The  quickest  readers  that  I  know 
can  read  an  ordinary  novel  in  about  two  hours. 
Taking  this  to  mean  about  100,000  words,  we  have  a 
rate  of  reading  of  about  830  words  per  minute.  It  is 
true  that  there  are  readers  who  claim  a  still  higher 
rate,  and  there  is  a  professor  in  Ireland  who  states 
that  his  rate  is  seventy  words  per  second,  which 
gives  4,200  per  minute,  or  more  than  five  times  the 
rate  of  the  quickest  reader  I  know.  This  professor 
could  toss  off  ordinary  100,000  word  novels  at  the 
rate  of  one  every  twenty-four  minutes,  and  in  fact 
he  tells  us  that  in  holiday  time  half  a  dozen  novels 
a  day  is  his  usual  allowance. 

You  are  not  to  be  discouraged  by  these  appalling 
[162] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

figures.  You  may  not  be  able  to  reach  the  eight 
hundred  rate,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  you  must  not 
rest  content  with  the  figure  you  have  at  present 
reached  as  shown  by  your  recent  test.  Whatever 
that  figure  is,  it  can  be  considerably  increased  by  a 
little  intelligent  practice — unless,  indeed,  you  are  in 
the  very  exceptional  position  of  having  had  practice 
of  this  kind  already.  Most  people  do  not  pay  any 
attention  to  their  rate  of  reading,  and  we  all  read 
in  such  an  easy-going  way  that  a  little  speeding  up 
is  always  possible.  Further,  you  are  not  to  suppose 
that  any  increase  in  speed  necessarily  implies  a  fall- 
ing off  in  quality.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  opposite 
is  nearer  the  truth.  Increase  in  speed  almost  neces- 
sarily increases  the  value  of  the  reading.  You  are 
aware  that  in  the  addition  of  long  columns  the 
quicker  we  tot  them  up  the  more  likely  are  we  to  be 
accurate.  So  the  additional  concentration  necessary 
to  increase  our  speed  produces  its  result  in  increased 
efficiency  in  the  mastering  of  the  subjects  about 
which  we  read.  In  the  experiments  made  on  the 
speed  of  reading  it  was  found  that  the  quickest 
readers  were,  on  the  whole,  best  able  to  stand  an 
examination  on  the  subject-matter  they  had  read. 

You  are  not  forgetting  that  all  this  applies  to 
reading  in  order  to  acquire  information.  There  are 
other  kinds  of  reading  in  which  speed  is  not  only 
of  no  consequence  as  an  advantage,  but  is  a  positive 
disadvantage.  We  may  want  to  savour  what  we 
read :  to  enjoy  it  as  we  go  along.  The  style  of  the 
[163] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

book  may  in  itself  be  excellent  and  add  to  our 
pleasure.  Not  merely  the  thing  said  but  the  way 
in  which  it  is  said  may  attract  us.  No  doubt  mere 
style  apart  from  matter  is  nothing  more  than  a 
tinkling  cymbal,  and  may  be  safely  neglected.  But 
admirable  form  joined  to  worthy  matter  makes  a 
combination  that  deserves  more  than  a  hurried  read- 
ing, however  thorough  that  reading  may  be. 

Further,  there  is  a  kind  of  reading  that  demands 
not  speed  but  leisure.  Its  purpose  is  not  to  supply 
material  to  the  reader,  but  rather  to  direct  him  in 
using  material  he  has  at  his  disposal.  It  calls  upon 
him  to  work  up  his  mental  content  in  order  to  pro- 
duce certain  definite  effects.  Take  a  descriptive 
poem,  for  example.  Here  the  poet  certainly  does 
his  best  to  make  pictures  rise  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader,  but  he  does  not  supply  the  material.  He 
rather  depends  upon  the  reader  having  at  his  dis- 
posal a  number  of  ideas  that  may  be  manipulated  by 
the  words  that  the  poet  uses.  When  you  read  a 
fine  description  in  Tennyson  or  in  Scott  you  are  not 
being  informed  so  much  as  being  stimulated.  Your 
mind  has  to  elaborate  the  suggestions  supplied  by  the 
poet.  This  is  why  in  reading  of  this  kind  you  often 
half  close  the  book,  and,  keeping  your  finger  between 
the  leaves,  let  your  mind  wander  over  the  ideas 
called  up  by  the  poet  and  combine  them  in  the  way 
he  desires. 

A  consideration  of  this  kind  of  reading  brings  out 
clearly  the  necessity  for  work  on  the  part  of  the 
[164] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

reader.  It  is  a  cooperative  process  in  which  the 
reader  must  do  his  share.  In  reading  a  purely  in- 
formative book,  the  reader  must  put  out  a  certain 
amount  of  effort,  but  it  is  sometimes  imagined  that 
in  reading  a  pleasant  book  of  poetry  the  reader  is 
entitled  to  take  things  easy.  No  doubt  the  kind  of 
work  he  must  do  in  reading  such  a  book  is  different 
from  that  he  must  do  in  dealing  with  a  text-book. 
But  there  must  be  work  of  some  kind.  In  order  that 
a  book  of  poetry  may  attain  its  end,  there  must  be 
two  workers :  the  poet  and  the  reader.  There  are,  in 
fact,  two  kinds  of  poets,  those  who  write  poetry 
and  those  who  enjoy  it  when  written.  We  are 
tempted  to  call  those  who  write,  active  poets,  and 
those  who  read,  passive;  and  there  is  a  certain  justi- 
fication in  using  these  terms.  But  there  is  danger 
of  misunderstanding,  since  the  terms  would  seem  to 
imply  that  the  reader  is  absolutely  passive,  instead 
of  being  merely  passive  as  compared  with  the  writer. 
Unless  the  reader  actively  responds,  the  work  of  the 
writer  is  in  vain.  The  poet  knows  that  his  reader 
has  in  his  mind  somewhere  ideas  of  heather,  and 
green  and  purple  and  gold,  and  shimmering  seas, 
and  twinkling  stars,  and  golden  sunshine  and  silvery 
moonbeams — and  out  of  this  store  he  calls  up  just 
the  elements  he  needs  to  produce  the  effect  he  hap- 
pens to  want  at  any  particular  time.  If  the  reader 
lacks  any  special  kind  of  experience,  the  poet  makes 
a  failure  with  that  reader  every  time  the  verses  call 
for  that  sort  of  experience.  This  is  why  certain 
[165] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

poets  are  unintelligible  to  young  people,  why  Brown- 
ing, for  example,  has  so  few  readers  as  compared 
with  Tennyson. 

We  read  for  information,  and  we  read  for  pleas- 
ure. But  while  we  are  acquiring  knowledge  and 
experiencing  pleasure  we  are  making  certain  gains 
in  passing.  Since  reading  is  a  means  of  intercourse, 
by  practising  it  we  acquire  a  command  of  the  chief 
instrument  of  intercourse — words.  Every  now  and 
again  it  becomes  fashionable  to  disparage  words,  to 
point  out  that  they  are  mere  breath,  empty  wind.  We 
are  told  that  men  are  apt  to  mistake  words  for 
things  and  to  rest  content  with  saying  without  doing. 
The  philosopher  Hobbes  is  generally  quoted :  "Words 
are  the  counters  of  wise  men,  but  the  money  of 
fools."  Now  all  this  is  perfectly  true,  but  it  only 
serves  as  a  warning  against  becoming  the  slaves  of 
words.  The  common  term  of  contempt  is  "mere" 
words,  and  here  the  adjective  indicates  the  essential 
distinction.  So  long  as  words  are  used  without 
reference  to  the  things  they  ought  to  signify,  obvi- 
ously they  are  impostors  and  cannot  help  misleading 
us.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  without  words  how 
would  our  boasted  intelligence  fare?  We  may  not 
go  so  far  as  Shelley  when  he  says,  speaking  of  the 
Deity, 

"He  gave  man  speech,  and  speech  created  thought," 

but-  we  cannot  deny  that  without  speech  it  would 

be  impossible  to  carry  on  intercourse  on  its  present 

[166] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

high  plane.  Learned  books  have  been  written  dis- 
cussing whether  it  is  ever  possible  to  think  without 
words.  The  dispute  has  not  yet  been  definitely 
settled,  but  it  is  now  generally  admitted  that  nothing 
like  continuous  thought  can  be  maintained  without 
words  or  their  equivalents. 

It  is  worth  your  while,  then,  to  take  stock  of  the 
words  at  your  disposal.  Leaving  out  of  account 
all  other  languages,  it  may  be  interesting  to  inquire 
how  many  words  there  are  in  English.  In  Professor 
W.  W.  Skeat's  Etymological  Dictionary  of  the  Eng- 
lish Language  (1910),  we  find  that  there  is  a  total 
of  14,286  words.  Yet  when  we  turn  to  some  of 
those  huge  dictionaries  referred  to  in  our  next  chap- 
ter we  find  that  they  reach,  and  even  exceed,  a  total 
of  300,000.  Obviously  many  of  the  words  included 
in  these  immense  compendia  are  not  really  English 
words.  Besides,  we  may  count  a  word  as  only  one, 
or  we  may  count  it  as  a  great  many.  In  Skeat  the 
word  do  counts  for  only  one  of  the  14,286:  in 
other  dictionaries  it  may  be  expanded  so  as  to  in- 
clude all  its  changes.  Thus  we  may  regard  as  sepa- 
rate words  does,  doth,  did,  done,  doing,  did'st,  and 
even  don't  and  didn't.  It  is  thus  not  difficult  to 
see  how  dictionaries  differ  in  the  number  of  words 
they  recognize.  Naturally  you  want  to  discover  how 
many  words  you  know,  but  it  is  difficult  to  find  out. 
An  ordinary  educated  Englishman  knows  practi- 
cally all  the  words  that  are  really  English,  and  may 
fairly  claim  to  know  almost  all  the  words  that  appear 
[167] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

in  Skeat,  and  a  good  many  more  when  we  take  into 
account  technical  terms,  anglicized  foreign  words, 
and  slang.  It  does  not  seem  unreasonable  to  credit 
him  with  a  knowledge  of  well  over  twenty  thousand 
words.  But  if  we  turn  to  distinguished  writers  and 
find  out  how  many  words  they  use,  we  get  a  sur- 
prise. Shakespeare  is  famous  for  the  richness  of  his 
vocabulary,  and  yet  we  find  that  those  who  have 
made  a  careful  calculation  of  his  words  give  him 
only  15,000.  Some,  it  is  true,  for  reasons  similar 
to  those  we  have  suggested  in  the  case  of  dictionaries, 
give  him  17,000.  But  even  at  this  higher  estimate 
we  have  the  fact  that  our  most  distinguished  author 
is  credited  with  a  smaller  vocabulary  than  is  claimed 
for  the  ordinary  educated  Englishman.  Milton,  in- 
deed, has  a  still  lower  record:  his  poems  do  not 
include  more  than  8,000  words.  Even  the  English 
Bible  is  content  with  6,000. 

The  question  naturally  arises:  if  an  educated  per- 
son knows  practically  all  the  words  in  an  ordinary 
English  dictionary,  how  does  it  come  about  that 
the  number  of  words  in  Shakespeare  and  others  is 
so  small?  The  answer  is  that  we  are  all  inclined 
to  confound  two  different  kinds  of  vocabularies — 
the  vocabulary  of  words  that  we  know,  and  the 
vocabulary  of  words  that  we  use.  .We  all  know  a 
much  greater  number  of  words  than  we  use.  It 
is  sometimes  said  that  the  number  of  words  even 
an  educated  person  habitually  uses  amounts  to  only 
about  4,000.  A  Scottish  schoolmaster  has  taken  the 
[168] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

trouble  to  count  up  the  number  of  words  such  a 
person  would  find  it  necessary  to  know  in  order  to 
express  his  ideas,  and  finds  that  the  minimum  is 
1 7,000  words.  But  this  calculation  in  no  way  affects 
the  estimate  of  the  number  of  words  habitually  used 
by  the  educated  person.  An  illiterate  peasant  is 
sometimes  said  to  get  along  with  a  vocabulary  of 
between  300  and  400  words,  though  it  would  be 
easy  to  demonstrate  that  he  knows  a  great  many  more 
words  than  he  actually  uses.  The  number  of  words 
at  the  command  of  a  person  gives  a  fair  index  of 
his  literary  status.  Among  the  Chinese,  for  example, 
it  was  required  from  anyone  who  aspired  to  the 
rank  of  "imperial  historian"  that  he  should  be  master 
of  at  least  9,000  words,  and  in  the  Chinese  examina- 
tions a  first  or  second  class  depends  upon  the  number 
of  words  at  the  command  of  the  candidate. 

We  have  accordingly  to  distinguish  between  the 
living  word  and  the  word  as  found  in  the  dictionary. 
Schoolmasters  long  ago  used  to  prepare  lists  of 
words  for  their  pupils  to  learn,  but  this  was  a  mis- 
take. We  should  not  go  to  a  dictionary  to  dig  out 
words  so  as  to  use  them,  but  should  learn  words  by 
meeting  them  in  ordinary  speech  and  in  books.  We 
shall  speak  of  the  use  of  dictionaries  in  our  next 
chapter.  In  the  meantime,  we  have  to  note  that  we 
all  use  words  in  three  different  connexions,  so  that 
we  may  be  said  to  have  each  three  different  vocabu- 
laries. We  have  a  speaking  vocabulary,  a  reading 
vocabulary  and  a  writing  vocabulary.  In  the  case 
[169] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

of  an  educated  person,  the  reading  vocabulary  is 
much  fuller  than  the  speaking  vocabulary,  and 
usually  a  good  deal  fuller  than  the  writing  vocabu- 
lary. We  know  and  understand  words  in  our  read- 
ing that  we  would  never  think  of  using  in  our 
ordinary  speech,  and  when  it  comes  to  writing  we 
find  that  we  have  all  a  tendency  to  limit  ourselves  to 
the  use  of  certain  words,  though  there  are  many 
others  that  we  might  use  if  we  set  ourselves  de- 
liberately to  employ  all  the  words  we  know.  If  you 
could  have  a  complete  vocabulary  prepared  of  all 
the  words  used  by,  say,  Dr.  Johnson,  and  another  of 
the  words  used  by  Lord  Macaulay,  you  would  find 
that  the  two  vocabularies  differ  materially ;  and  even 
if  you  take  two  writers  who  are  contemporaries, 
you  will  still  find  a  difference,  though  not  quite  so 
marked.  Your  own  vocabulary,  you  may  Test 
assured,  is  different  from  anybody  else's  vocabulary, 
though  it  will  be  quite  like  those  of  your  friends  or 
fellow  students  who  are  living  the  same  life  and 
doing  the  same  kind  of  studies  as  you.  In  order  that 
people  should  understand  each  other  readily,  it  is 
essential  that  their  vocabularies  should  coincide  to 
a  great  extent,  and  in  particular  that  their  reading 
vocabularies  should  be  the  same.  It  is  not  so  im- 
portant that  we  should  all  use  the  same  words,  as  it 
is  that  we  should  all  understand  the  same  words. 

The  best  means  of  enriching  your  vocabulary  is 
reading.     Writing  helps,  no  doubt,  particularly  in 
the  way  of  making  your  knowledge  of  words  more 
[170] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

exact.  But  our  first  acquaintance  with  a  word  should 
be  made  by  meeting  it  in  active  service,  not  on  the 
retired  list  as  found  in  the  dictionary.  In  reading 
your  text-books  you  will  often  find  that  what  you 
are  really  doing  is  mastering  a  technical  vocabulary. 
When  you  are  studying  the  particular  terms  used  in 
any  subject  you  are,  of  course,  enlarging  your 
vocabulary  and  doing  it  deliberately.  We  acquire 
clearness  of  thought  in  any  subject  by  analysing  out 
the  exact  meaning  of  each  term.  We  are,  in  fact, 
studying  the  subject-matter  by  means  of  the  words 
that  represent  it. 

But  there  is  need  for  a  much  wider  range  in  the 
use  of  words,  and  this  may  be  acquired  in  the  course 
of  what  is  called  general  reading.  We  may  read 
an  author  solely  for  his  style,  in  which  case  we  are 
studying  his  work  in  quite  as  technical  a  way  as  if 
we  were  reading  a  text-book.  But  then,  again,  we 
may  read  an  author  merely  to  enjoy  his  work  as 
art.  We  read  for  the  sake  of  the  effect  he  produces 
on  our  minds.  We  may  or  we  may  not  acquire 
definite  information  from  this  reading,  but  we  do 
undoubtedly  acquire  a  vocabulary  and  a  certain 
familiarity  with  the  use  of  words. 

It  should  not  be  supposed  that  our  vocabulary  is 
to  be  recruited  entirely  from  prose  reading.  In  fact, 
there  is  nothing  more  valuable  as  an  aid  in  forming 
our  prose  vocabulary  than  the  intelligent  reading 
of  poetry.  You  will  find  Shakespeare  extremely 
useful  in  this  matter.  It  is  striking  to  find  that  not 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

more  than  between  500  and  600  of  his  words  are 
now  obsolete.  Tennyson  is  another  artist  in  words, 
whose  works  well  repay  careful  study  by  those  who 
wish  to  enrich  their  vocabulary.  You  are  not  to 
suppose  that  such  reading  will  encourage  you  to  use 
poetical  words  in  plain  prose.  The  value  of  reading 
such  writers  lies  in  the  sense  you  acquire  of  the  value 
of  words,  their  possibilities,  the  need  for  variety, 
and  above  all,  the  fact  that  under  certain  conditions 
there  is  only  one  word  that  will  meet  our  needs. 

When  we  look  at  reading  from  this  point  of  view 
we  have  to  consider  the  problem  of  what  is  sometimes 
called  "desultory  reading."  By  this  term  is  usually 
meant  reading  that  is  by  the  way,  that  has  no  definite 
bearing  upon  our  studies,  that  is,  in  fact,  unsystem- 
atic. Many  people  roundly  condemn  this  form  of 
reading,  and  maintain  that  all  our  reading  should 
be  definitely  mapped  out  and  arranged  according  to 
a  settled  plan.  To  this  view  no  serious  objection 
need  be  raised,  but  a  settled  plan  ought  to  make 
provision  for  a  certain  amount  of  reading  of  a  very 
general  kind.  There  is  room  in  life  for  a  limited 
amount  of  purely  random  reading,  and  such  reading 
is  all  the  more  necessary  in  the  case  of  those  who  are 
following  a  severely  systematic  course  of  study. 
What  is  sometimes  called  "browsing"  among  books 
is  a  valuable  part  of  a  general  education,  though 
obviously  it  must  be  kept  within  narrow  limits.  To 
be  allowed  to  follow  one's  own  inclination  among 
the  books  in  a  well-chosen  general  library  is  a  means 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

of  developing  one's  individuality.  We  are  not  here 
thinking  about  the  possibility  of  a  student  reading 
objectionable  books:  that  raises  quite  a  different 
question.  What  we  are  concerned  with  is  the  need 
for  a  certain  amount  of  elasticity  in  the  choice  of 
reading  material. 

Another  point  that  is  worth  your  attention  is  the 
tone  to  be  acquired  by  reading  of  a  certain  class. 
If  you  desire  to  write  in  a  particular  way,  you  will 
find  it  very  helpful  to  read  books  exemplifying  that 
way.  If  you  wish  to  write  with  an  elevated  tone 
you  should  saturate  your  mind  with  the  Bible  or 
with  such  writers  as  Burke.  If  you  wish  to  cultivate 
an  easy,  light  tone,  such  writers  as  Goldsmith  or 
Addison  will  give  you  what  you  want.  You  will 
often  find,  indeed,  that  it  is  wise  to  read  a  writer 
whom  you  do  not  greatly  admire,  in  order  to  get  rid 
of  certain  peculiarities  of  your  own  style. 

Having  now  considered  the  different  kinds  of 
reading,  we  are  in  a  position  to  look  into  some  of 
those  practical  problems  that  face  the  student.  Fore- 
most among  these  is  the  question  of  skipping.  You 
are  not  to  make  the  mistake  of  treating  this  as  a 
purely  moral  matter.  There  are  cases  where  skip- 
ping is  contemptible ;  there  are  others  in  which  to  do 
anything  else  is  foolish.  The  important  thing  is  not 
the  number  of  pages  you  cover,  but  what  you  get 
out  of  them.  Your  reading  must  be  dominated  by 
purpose.  You  go  to  a  book  for  a  definite  purpose; 
unless  you  make  the  book  serve  that  purpose  you 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

have  not  used  it  wisely.  Not  to  skip  may  be  a 
very  immoral  proceeding.  You  go  to  a  book  to  find 
examples  of  certain  grammatical  constructions:  it 
is  altogether  wrong  to  read  doggedly  through  it. 
You  wish  to  form  an  idea  of  a  man's  character  from 
his  biography.  A  great  deal  of  the  matter  in  the 
book  we  take  up  may  be  of  no  value  to  us  whatever 
and  ought  to  be  ruthlessly  skipped,  if  we  hope  to 
look  our  conscience  in  the  face.  The  mere  desire 
to  complete  a  book  is  not  necessarily  a  moral  desire. 
The  spirit  of  the  collector,  the  lust  for  completeness, 
rather  than  a  good  going  conscience  accounts  for 
the  unwillingness  of  many  people  to  skip.  There 
is  no  breach  of  contract  with  a  book  if  we  drop  it 
when  we  find  that,  on  closer  inspection,  it  falls  short 
of  what  we  expected. 

Where  it  is  wrong  to  skip  is  in  the  book  that  we 
find  difficult,  and  therefore  unattractive.  It  is  the 
old  question  of  thoroughness  over  again.  If  the 
difficult  or  dull  part  is  essential  to  our  purpose, 
skipping  is  out  of  the  question.  If  I  am  trying  to 
form  a  just  estimate  of  a  man's  character  from  an 
aw/obiography,  I  may  feel  intensely  bored  with 
certain  chapters,  and  may  honestly,  and  even  justly, 
regard  them  as  in  themselves  worthless  trash,  but 
for  my  present  purpose  it  is  imperative  that  I  get 
all  the  materials  for  forming  a  true  judgment  of  the 
man's  character.  With  regard  to  difficulty  it  is 
worth  noting  that  we  are  not  justified  in  skipping  a 
chapter  on  the  plea  that  we  do  not  understand  it, 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

for,  obviously,  we  cannot  be  sure  that  we  do  not 
understand  it  until  we  have  finished  it.  Whether 
we  should  read  it  a  second  time  or  not  depends  upon 
our  attitude  towards  the  whole  book.  It  may  be 
quite  a  desirable  thing  to  neglect  the  difficult  chapter 
till  we  have  read  all  the  rest  of  the  book  twice. 

Often  all  that  we  want  from  a  book  is  its  essential 
message  for  us.  It  is  often  quite  easy  to  get  the 
heart  out  of  a  book  without  reading  more  than  a 
quarter  of  it.  Many  German  books,  for  example, 
seem  to  be  written  on  the  principle  of  telling  in  the 
first  three-quarters  of  the  book  all  that  other  people 
have  said  on  the  subject,  leaving  the  remaining 
quarter  for  the  author's  own  contribution.  In  cases 
of  this  kind  it  is  folly  for  an  experienced  reader  to 
trouble  with  the  preliminary  part;  though,  to  be 
sure,  if  the  reader  is  a  beginner  in  the  subject  the 
whole  book  must  be  read.  Everything  depends  on 
the  needs  of  the  individual  reader. 

The  matter  of  marking  books  as  you  read  them 
calls  for  attention.  Obviously  this  can  interest  us 
only  in  connexion  with  books  that  belong  to  us.  It 
is  quite  a  wise  plan  to  mark  text-books.  Marks  at 
the  side,  underlinings,  numbering  of  separate  points 
in  paragraphs,  backward  and  forward  references — 
all  are  valuable  in  a  book  of  this  kind,  and  increase 
the  value  of  the  book  for  the  person  who  has  made 
the  marks. 

With  regard  to  ordinary  books  in  literature, 
history,  art,  criticism,  it  is  probable  that  we  should 
[175] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

be  very  moderate  in  our  use  of  marks.  Some  writers 
recommend  a  more  or  less  technical  series  of  marks 
to  indicate  various  criticisms  of  the  text.  A  couple 
of  lines  at  the  margin,  for  example:  "Signifies  that 
this  paragraph  contains  the  main  or  one  of  the  main 
propositions  to  be  proved  or  illustrated  in  this 
chapter:  the  staple  or  one  of  the  staples  on  which 
the  chain  hangs."  Another  sign  conveys  the  mean- 
ing :  "This  sentiment  is  true  and  will  bear  expanding, 
and  will  open  a  field  indefinite  in  extent";  while 
another  serves  to  inform  us  that :  "This,  if  carried 
out,  would  not  stand  the  test  of  experience,  and  is 
therefore,  incorrect."  Other  signs  indicate  good 
taste  and  bad  taste,  irrelevancy  and  repetition,  ac- 
curacy and  error,  good  arrangement  and  bad. 

All  this  might  be  useful  if  your  purpose  were  to 
give  a  very  thorough  review  of  the  book  for  the 
benefit  of  somebody  else — though  my  experience  of 
reviewers  does  not  lead  me  to  gather  that  they  have 
such  a  starkly  pedantic  scheme — but  you  will  find 
it  highly  desirable  to  adopt  a  much  simpler  plan. 
You  must  read  critically,  of  course,  but  your  aim 
should  be  more  to  profit  by  what  your  author  says 
than  to  indicate  to  him  where  he  has  gone  wrong. 
A  single  line  at  the  side  to  indicate  an  important 
passage,  a  double  line  for  a  more  important  passage, 
and  a  triple  line — to  be  used  very  rarely  indeed — 
for  passages  of  vital  moment,  a  ?  here  and  there 
when  you  are  not  sure  about  the  facts  or  opinions, 
or  where  you  wish  to  make  further  inquiries,  a 
[176] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

reference  to  some  other  part  of  the  book  where  the 
same  matter  is  dealt  with,  an  indication  of  some 
other  book  or  passage  bearing  on  the  same  subject — 
these  you  will  probably  find  sufficient  for  your  pur- 
pose. It  is  a  fundamental  principle  that  the  marks 
of  importance  mean  importance  to  you,  and  not  to 
people  at  large;  further,  that  they  mean  importance 
to  you  in  connexion  with  the  particular  purpose 
you  have  before  you  in  reading  the  book.  Thus 
the  marks  you  put  on  a  book  give  it  an  individuality 
and  make  it  of  special  value  to  you.  When  you  want 
to  refer  to  a  passage  in  a  book  you  have  so  marked, 
you  have  no  difficulty  in  locating  it  by  merely  turning 
over  the  pages.  For  the  only  passages  that  you  have 
remembered  well  enough  to  wish  to  recall  are  those 
that  struck  you  most  in  your  reading,  and  those 
will  naturally  have  your  "important"  mark.  You 
will,  of  course,  realize  that  if  you  use  marks  very 
freely,  you  must  pay  for  this  by  the  increased  diffi- 
culty of  locating  a  passage  afterwards.  Moderation 
in  marking  is  highly  to  be  commended. 


[177] 


CHAPTER  VII 


TEXT-BOOKS    AND    BOOKS    OF 
REFERENCE 

ONE  of  my  dictionaries  tells  me  that  a  text- 
book is  "a  book  containing  the  leading  prin- 
ciples of  a  science."  Another  goes  into  more  detail 
and  explains  that  a  text-book  is  "a  volume,  as  of 
some  classical  author,  on  which  a  teacher  lectures 
or  comments;  hence  any  manual  of  instruction;  a 
school  book."  You  will  note  that  we  have  here  two 
fundamentally  different  ideas  of  what  a  text-book  is, 
and  the  difference  arises  from  the  relation  assumed 
between  the  book  and  the  teacher.  The  first  defini- 
tion does  not  mention  the  teacher  at  all;  the  second 
puts  him  in  the  forefront. 

The  connexion  between  the  teacher  and  the  text- 
book is  an  ancient  one,  and  carries  us  back  to  very 
early  times  when  there  were  few  books  indeed. 
There  were,  in  fact,  more  teachers  than  books,  and 
the  business  of  the  teachers  was  to  acquire  as  much 
knowledge  as  they  could  from  books  and  from  inter- 
course with  men,  and  then  place  this  knowledge  at 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

the  disposal  of  their  pupils.  Very  often  their  teach- 
ing took  the  form  of  reading  and  explaining  the  few 
books  that  were  at  that  time  available.  In  the  old 
schools  and  universities  the  teachers  and  professors 
used  to  lecture  on  the  writings  of  their  predecessors. 
Thus  the  writings  of  men  like  Plato  and  Aristotle 
were  read,  explained  and  criticized  in  such  a  way  as 
to  bring  out  their  full  meaning.  They  were  treated, 
in  fact,  pretty  much  as  a  modern  clergyman  deals 
with  a  text  from  the  Scriptures.  The  text-book  was 
thus  the  basis  of  the  lecture,  it  was  the  authority, 
and  the  teacher  took  the  subordinate  position  of  a 
mere  expounder  of  what  another  man  had  written. 
Often,  no  doubt,  the  comments  of  the  teacher  were 
of  more  value  than  the  text  on  which  he  commented. 
This  became  increasingly  common  in  connexion  with 
subjects  of  a  scientific  character.  Fresh  discoveries 
were  made,  and  mistakes  were  found  in  the  text. 
These  mistakes  the  teacher,  of  course,  pointed  out, 
in  order  that  his  hearers  should  know  the  truth. 
But  such  corrections  had  to  be  most  carefully  made, 
for  those  old  people  were  very  jealous  for  the  honour 
of  their  established  authorities.  Aristotle,  for  ex- 
ample, became  for  centuries  the  recognized  authority 
in  a  great  many  subjects.  What  he  said  was  re- 
garded as  final  on  any  subject  on  which  he  had 
written,  and  hearers  would  not  listen  to  anything 
opposed  to  him.  Commentators,  if  they  wanted  to 
make  any  corrections,  had  to  endeavour  to  show 
that  the  new  things  they  wished  to  bring  forward 
[179] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

were  really  implied  in  Aristotle,  were,  in  fact,  what 
Aristotle  meant  all  the  time,  though  it  needed  clever 
people  like  the  lecturers  to  make  this  evident. 

As  the  excessive  authority  of  the  old  writers 
waned,  it  was  permitted  to  the  lecturers  to  set  forth 
their  own  discoveries,  and  gradually  it  became  the 
custom  for  men  who  had  acquired  great  knowledge 
or  made  important  discoveries  to  gather  together  to 
exchange  their  knowledge  among  themselves,  and  to 
communicate  to  ordinary  students  as  much  of  their 
learning  as  the  students  were  ready  to  take  in. 
Thus  we  had  the  gradual  growth  of  the  universities. 
At  first  the  students  merely  listened  to  the  professors 
and  wrote  down  as  much  of  what  they  heard  as 
enabled  them  to  store  it  up  and  carry  it  away  with 
them  from  the  university.  With  this  part  of  the 
professors'  work  we  shall  deal  more  fully  in  our 
next  chapter.  Here  we  are  interested  in  the  change 
that  took  place  on  the  invention  of  printing  and  the 
multiplication  of  books.  When  a  learned  man  could 
put  all  his  knowledge  into  the  form  of  a  book  there 
was  no  longer  an  absolute  necessity  for  people  to 
assemble  at  certain  centres  so  as  to  gather  the  knowl- 
edge that  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  professors.  The 
book  began  to  take  the  place  of  the  teacher.  This 
is  what  underlies  Carlyle's  saying  that  the  modern 
university  is  a  library. 

So  far  as  the  communication  of  knowledge  is  con- 
cerned we  may  accept  Carlyle's  statement,  though, 
as  we  have  seen,  there  are  other  influences  at  work 
[180] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

in  a  university  than  those  connected  with  the  acquir- 
ing of  information.  In  the  meantime  we  are  inter- 
ested in  the  nature  of  the  text-book  that  has  been 
evolved  by  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  and  the  multi- 
plication of  printed  matter.  Not  every  text-book  is 
meant  to  take  the  place  of  the  teacher.  At  the  pres- 
ent moment  there  are  more  text-books  being  printed 
for  school  use  than  ever  before  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  But  the  way  in  which  they  are  used  is  quite 
different  from  that  of  the  old  times.  No  doubt,  even 
yet,  in  dealing  with  the  teaching  of  foreign  languages 
we  have  the  pupils  provided  with  a  standard  book  in 
a  certain  language,  which  book  is  used  in  the  good 
old-fashioned  way  as  a  "text"  on  which  pupil  and 
teacher  alike  work  as  the  basis  of  their  studies.  Fur- 
ther, it  has  to  be  admitted  that  in  a  less  legitimate 
way  teachers  of  poor  attainments  and  low  ideals  of 
their  profession  supply  their  pupils  with  text-books 
in  various  subjects,  and  use  these  text-books  as  the 
authority.  Such  teachers  depend  upon  the  books 
for  the  information  the  pupils  have  to  acquire.  The 
text-book  is  the  master,  and  the  teacher  the  mere 
expounder  of  what  is  to  be  found  there. 

But  the  really  well-informed  and  capable  teacher 
uses  the  text-book  in  a  totally  different  way.  For 
him  it  is  an  aid,  and  not  a  master.  It  supplies  the 
broad  outlines  of  the  subject  and  fills  in  the  necessary 
details.  It  saves  the  teacher  from  the  mechanical 
labour  of  writing  out  lists  and  putting  on  the  black- 
board long  tables  of  facts  that  are  important  in  them- 
[181] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

selves,  but  that  are  common  property  and  demand 
no  special  ability  either  to  discover  or  to  understand. 
The  teacher's  business  is  to  guide  his  pupils  in  their 
approach  to  a  new  subject,  to  warn  them  of  pitfalls, 
and  to  present  matters  in  such  a  way  as  to  avoid 
unnecessary  expenditure  of  time.  He  must,  above 
everything,  see  that  the  subject  is  treated  in  such  a 
way  as  to  meet  the  special  needs  of  the  pupils  here 
and  now  before  him.  He  must  mediate  between  the 
text-book  and  his  pupils.  That  is  what  a  teacher  is 
for. 

Instead  of  taking  the  book  and  talking  round  it, 
the  real  teacher  deals  with  the  subject  itself  and 
falls  back  upon  the  book  to  supply  illustrative  matter, 
and  to  give  in  a  permanent  form  isolated  facts  that 
otherwise  would  be  forgotten  if  they  were  presented 
only  once  to  the  pupil  in  the  course  of  a  lesson, 
however  excellently  that  lesson  had  been  given.  In 
the  hands  of  a  good  teacher  the  main  function  of 
the  text-book  is  to  secure  careful  preparation  and 
steady  revision.  The  poorest  teacher  of  all  is  the 
one  who  does  nothing  more  than  prescribe  a  certain 
portion  of  the  text-book  to  be  prepared  for  each 
day's  lesson  and  in  the  class  hour  find  out  by  ques- 
tions whether  the  pupils  have  learned  the  portion 
set  for  their  study.  If  this  is  the  only  use  made  of 
text-books  the  value  of  the  teacher  does  not  appear 
to  be  very  great.  All  that  he  does  is  to  act  as  a  sort 
of  external  conscience  and  see  that  the  pupils  do 
their  work.  A  student  with  a  good  working  con- 
[182] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

science  of  his  own  could  do  quite  well  without  a 
teacher  of  this  kind.  In  fact,  the  private  student 
does  use  the  text-book  just  in  this  way.  He  treats 
it  as  a  book  containing  the  leading  principles  of  his 
subject,  and  sets  himself  to  acquire  those  principles 
from  the  book  by  his  own  efforts. 

With  regard  to  text-books,  students  fall  naturally 
into  two  classes.  Some  prefer  to  have  all  their  in- 
struction at  the  hands  of  teachers;  they  like  to  be 
told  things,  to  have  matters  presented  to  them  by 
the  human  voice.  Others  like  to  have  facts  set  down 
before  them  in  the  cold  black  and  white  of  print, 
and  to  have  time  to  deal  with  them  at  their  own  pace 
and  in  their  own  way.  The  chances  are  that  you 
who  read  this  book  belong  to  the  second  class.  The 
very  fact  that  you  are  taking  the  trouble  to  read  these 
pages  shows  that  you  want  to  take  the  matter  of 
education  into  your  own  hands  and  set  about  it  in 
your  own  way.  But  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  the 
presence  of  a  teacher  is  a  disadvantage.  It  is  quite 
the  opposite.  The  wise  student  will  take  every 
opportunity  to  come  under  the  influence  of  good 
teachers,  but  he  will  at  the  same  time  make  all  his 
arrangements  to  get  the  greatest  benefit  from  both 
teacher  and  text-book.  He  will  make  each  supple- 
ment the  other.  In  the  last  resort,  if  a  teacher  is 
unavailable,  the  really  earnest  student  will  be  able 
to  make  shift  with  the  text-book  alone. 

So  we  come  now  to  a  consideration  of  the  nature 
of  the  text-book  itself.  This  varies  according  to  the 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

account  it  takes  of  the  personality  of  the  person  who 
is  to  use  it.  Some  text-books  do  not  consider  the 
student  at  all.  The  only  concern  of  the  author  is 
to  make  the  best  possible  presentation  of  his  subject. 
Above  everything  he  desires  to  give  a  logically 
arranged  statement  of  the  important  facts  in  their 
true  relation  to  each  other.  The  subject  is  every- 
thing. Such  books  are  veritable  "texts."  They 
almost  demand  a  teacher:  the  matter  is  stated  in 
such  a  bald  way  that  the  ordinary  student  has  little 
chance  of  mastering  the  subject,  while  the  somewhat 
easy-going  student  is  supplied  with  no  moral  incen- 
tive to  effort.  The  teacher  can  supply  to  the  ordinary 
student  explanations  and  expansions,  and-  can  apply 
stimulus  to  the  indifferent  one.  The  private  student 
finds  such  books  very  difficult.  Of  course,  if  he  has 
the  intelligence  and  the  grit  to  face  and  conquer 
them,  he  has  a  corresponding  reward;  for  there  is 
no  triumph  like  that  of  mastering  a  difficult  subject 
by  sheer  force  of  intelligent  application. 

Other  text-books,  particularly  of  recent  years,  do 
take  account  of  the  nature  of  the  pupil.  They  recog- 
nize the  distinction  between  presenting  the  matter 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  person  who  knows 
it  all  already  and  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
person  who  is  making  his  first  acquaintance  with 
the  subject.  The  old  Latin  Grammars,  for  example 
began  with  the  declensions  and  worked  their  way 
mercilessly  through  the  whole  of  the  Accident  and 
Syntax  without  taking  the  least  account  of  how  it 
[184] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

all  struck  the  pupil.  The  rules  were  stated  with  great 
exactness  and  numberless  exceptions  were  duly 
noted.  Everything  was  as  complete  as  the  scholar- 
author  could  make  it.  The  newer  kind  of  Latin 
Grammar  includes  explanations  and  exercises.  The 
pupil  is  let  into  the  secrets  of  things :  he  is  told  what 
it  is  all  about.  Many  of  the  newer  text -books 
frankly  adopt  the  pupil's  standpoint,  and  address 
him  in  the  second  person.  Others  are  a  little  afraid 
of  going  so  far,  and  content  themselves  with  refer- 
ring in  the  third  person  to  the  student,  saying  that 
he  will  find  this  or  that  the  better  way  to  go  about 
his  work.  Problems  are  often  given,  along  with 
certain  hints  that  help  the  student  towards  a  solution. 
It  is  clear  that  in  all  this  we  are  trenching  upon  the 
teacher's  province.  The  text-book  is  becoming,  to 
some  extent,  a  teacher  on  its  own  account.  There 
are  now,  in  fact,  all  degrees  of  the  personal  appeal 
in  text-books,  from  the  sternly  logical  kind  in  which 
personality  of  all  sorts  is  rigidly  excluded  to  the 
kindly,  confidential  style  of  the  "self-educator"  text- 
books, that  frankly  try  to  take  the  place  of  the 
teacher  altogether.  The  fewer  the  opportunities  the 
student  has  of  obtaining  the  services  of  capable 
teachers,  the  more  he  is  inclined  to  fall  back  upon  the 
text-books  that  make  the  personal  appeal.  But  the 
private  student  should  not  confine  himself  to  books 
of  this  class.  He  ought  always  to  have  on  hand  one 
or  two  text-books  of  the  severely  logical  type,  and 
make  the  best  he  can  of  them. 

[  185  j 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

In  using  the  more  rigid  kind  of  text-book  the 
student  who  has  no  teacher  should  not  make  the 
mistake  of  thinking  that  he  must  follow  the  exact 
order  of  the  book  in  dealing  with  the  different  parts 
of  the  subject-matter.  He  must  approach  the  book 
as  a  source  of  information,  but  he  is  entitled  to  get 
that  information  in  any  order  that  he  finds  most 
convenient.  He  will  first  make  an  inspection  of  the 
book  as  a  whole.  Too  frequently  the  student  takes 
up  a  new  text-book  and  merely  sits  down  and  starts 
at  the  beginning  with  the  intention  of  going  right  on. 
But  this  is  a  bad  way  of  beginning  with  some  books. 
You  should  always  make  up  your  mind  what  you 
expect  to  get  from  anything  you  propose  to  read. 
This  is  essential  in  order  that  you  may  bring  to  your 
reading  a  mind  ready  to  profit  by  what  is  presented 
to  you.  In  books  of  the  kind  we  are  at  present 
considering  the  preface  usually  gives  little  help.  It 
generally  deals  with  matters  that  interest  the  author 
rather  than  help  the  reader.  The  list  of  contents, 
however,  is  usually  more  enlightening  and  provides 
a  sort  of  bill  of  fare  from  which  you  may  choose 
what  is  most  likely  to  prove  of  use  to  you.  The 
index,  too,  must  not  be  overlooked.  It  often  sup- 
plies a  clue  to  the  place  where  is  to  be  found  the 
particular  kind  of  information  you  desire.  Your 
plan,  of  course,  is  to  begin  such  a  book  as  this  at 
whatever  point  presents  the  closest  connexion  with 
your  present  knowledge.  Books  of  this  kind  are 
to  be  read  for  the  information  they  supply,  so  your 
[186] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

conscience  may  be  easy  in  the  matter  of  skipping. 
You  may  quite  wisely  make  up  your  mind  that  you 
are  going  to  master  the  book  as  a  whole,  but  this 
resolution  in  no  way  militates  against  the  plan  of 
dealing  with  the  book  by  instalments  selected  at  your 
discretion.  In  reading  it  is  as  true  as  in  warfare 
that  we  should  divide  and  conquer. 

Before  leaving  the  question  of  text-books  it  is 
worth  while  combating  a  popular  view  that  a  text- 
book has  served  its  turn  when  it  has  given  up  its 
information  to  the  reader.  Some  students,  in  fact, 
have  the  detestable  habit  of  selling  all  their  old  text- 
books as  soon  as  they  have  served  their  turn.  The 
arguments  in  favour  of  this  plan  are  plausible 
enough.  Such  books  are  valuable  only  for  the  in- 
formation they  impart;  when  that  information  is 
mastered  they  are  of  no  more  value  to  us  than  is  the 
debris  that  we  call  a  sucked-orange.  Besides,  prog- 
ress, especially  in  the  sciences,  is  so  rapid  that  an 
old  text-book  becomes  antiquated  almost  as  soon  as 
we  have  done  with  it.  This  last  consideration  is  the 
only  one  that  counts.  All  the  rest  are  based  on 
ignorance  of  the  special  value  to  us  of  any  text-book 
that  we  have  thoroughly  studied.  We  have  a  greater 
familiarity  with  that  text-book  than  with  any  other 
on  the  subject.  We  know  our  way  about  in  it.  We 
are  able,  with  the  minimum  expenditure  of  time,  to 
get  out  of  it  any  information  we  want.  We  have 
a  special  interest  in  the  book.  It  represents,  in  fact, 
a  certain  amount  of  paid-up  intellectual  capital  that 
[187] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

is  squandered  if  we  part  from  that  particular  book. 
If  the  subject  dealt  with  in  the  text-book  is  one  in 
which  we  are  likely  to  maintain  an  interest  in  after 
life,  there  could  be  no  better  way  of  keeping  up  to 
date  in  it  than  by  making  from  time  to  time  the 
various  corrections  in  our  old  text-book  that  ad- 
vances in  the  subject  make  necessary.  There  is  the 
further  advantage  in  retaining  our  old  text-books 
that  they  supply  in  the  most  effective  way  a  record 
of  our  intellectual  experience.  No  one  who  has 
not  tried  it  can  realize  the  efficiency  of  an  old 
text-book  in  reviving  in  the  mind  the  intellectual 
experiences  that  marked  the  original  study  of  the 
subject. 

In  your  general  pursuit  of  knowledge  you  cannot 
confine  yourself  to  text-books.  In  these,  more  or 
less  systematic  information  is  presented  in  certain 
definite  subjects,  but  there  are  subjects  that  you  are 
not  studying  systematically  and  that  yet  come  your 
way  in  general  reading  and  in  connexion  with  com- 
position or  ordinary  intercourse,  and  it  becomes 
essential  to  know  how  to  get  answers  to  the  questions 
that  are  constantly  arising  out  of  our  ignorance. 
Now  there  is  a  group  of  books  that  resemble  the 
severer  kind  of  text-books  in  that  they  exclude  the 
personal  element  and  depend  for  their  value  on  their 
strictly  logical  arrangement.  These  are  known  by 
the  general  name  of  "books  of  reference,"  and  an 
important  part  of  our  education  consists  in  acquiring 
familiarity  with  these  means  of  meeting  the  sudden 
[188] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

demands  for  information  that  are  so  frequent  in 
actual  life.  The  characteristic  of  books  of  reference 
is  that  they  are  so  arranged  as  to  provide,  with  the 
minimum  expenditure  of  time,  the  precise  informa- 
tion we  may  at  any  moment  require.  A  text-book 
is  to  be  used  steadily  and  mastered  as  a  whole.  A 
book  of  reference  is  to  be  used  only  to  the  extent 
that  it  happens  to  be  required. 

The  dictionary  is  probably  the  most  characteristic 
book  of  reference,  and  the  importance  of  the  dis- 
tinction between  a  text-book  and  a  book  of  reference 
may  be  well  illustrated  by  a  misuse  that  is  some- 
times made  of  the  dictionary  as  a  source  book.  We 
naturally  and  properly  appeal  to  the  dictionary  for 
the  meanings  of  words  that  have  troubled  us  in  our 
reading  or  speaking,  but  we  should  not  go  to  it  to 
discover  new  words  to  use.  We  have  seen  that  old- 
fashioned  schoolmasters  used  to  make  up  little  dic- 
tionaries of  words  in  order  that  their  pupils  might 
have  their  vocabularies  enlarged.  But  the  proper 
way  to  enlarge  our  vocabulary  is  to  have  intercourse 
with  others  and  to  read  widely.  In  this  way  we  get 
the  meaning  of  words  from  seeing  and  hearing  them 
used,  and  when  we  are  in  doubt  about  a  word  we  go 
to  the  dictionary.  It  is  true  that  at  school  exercises 
are  often  set  for  the  very  purpose  of  giving  practice 
in  the  use  of  words,  and  as  an  exercise  this  is  not 
open  to  objection.  But  there  is  sometimes  a  danger 
of  carrying  dictionary  work  too  far.  There  is,  for 
example,  a  book,  excellent  in  itself  but  liable  to 
[189] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

abuse,  that  seeks  to  combine  the  dictionary  function 
with  the  word-supplying  function.  It  is  known  as 
Roget's  Thesaurus  of  English  Words  and  Phrases, 
Classified  and  Arranged  so  as  to  facilitate  the  ex- 
pression of  Ideas  and  assist  in  Literary  Composition. 
The  very  word  Thesaurus,  meaning  treasure-house, 
reminds  us  of  the  old-fashioned  books  of  the  same 
sort.  The  first  half  of  the  book  is  arranged  in  such 
a  way  that  the  words  are  classified  under  six  cate- 
gories or  headings.  We  have  words  dealing  with 
each  of  the  following  six  subjects,  (i)  Abstract 
Relations,  (2)  Space,  (3)  the  Material  World,  (4) 
Intellect,  (5)  Volition,  (6)  Sentient  and  Moral 
Powers.  The  idea  seems  to  be  that  if  we  are  writing 
on  any  of  these  subjects  we  might  naturally  consult 
the  vocabularies  in  order  to  get  the  proper  words  for 
our  purpose.  On  the  other  hand,  the  second  half 
of  the  book  is  made  up  of  a  list  of  words  alphabeti- 
cally arranged  and  with  references  to  the  place  where 
the  word  occurs  in  the  first  half,  so  that  if  a  reader 
has  a  difficulty  with  a  word  he  may  turn  it  up  under 
its  proper  category  and  see  it  explained  and  illus- 
trated by  quotations.  Though  the  book  may  be 
quite  wisely  studied  as  a  text-book,  its  best  use  is 
certainly  as  a  book  of  reference. 

The  danger  of  going  to  a  dictionary  to  get  a  word 
to  use  in  a  composition  is  well  illustrated  in  the 
misuse  of  the  English  side  of  the  dictionary  of  a 
foreign  language.  In  learning  languages  other  than 
our  own  we  have  to  use  the  dictionary  a  great  deal, 
[190] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

but  we  ought  to  use  almost  exclusively  the  part  of 
the  dictionary  that  gives  the  foreign  words  followed 
by  their  English  equivalents.  Thus,  when  we  are 
studying  Latin,  we  have  two  parts  to  our  dictionary : 
one  is  called  Latin-English,  the  other  English-Latin. 
Now  the  student  should  confine  himself  almost 
entirely  to  the  Latin-English  part.  My  Latin  pro- 
fessor at  the  university  used  to  say  that  he  would 
gladly  make  a  bonfire  of  all  the  English-Latin  dic- 
tionaries in  the  world.  His  animosity  was  aroused 
because  students,  in  translating  English  into  Latin 
prose,  would  go  to  the  English-Latin  part  and  find 
there  words  that  they  had  never  seen  before  and 
use  them  in  a  wrong  sense.  The  careless  schoolboy 
looks  up  a  word  in  his  English-Latin  dictionary  and 
finds  perhaps  a  list  of  half  a  dozen  equivalents.  If 
he  is  a  simple  soul  he  selects  the  first  and  uses  it. 
If  he  is  more  sophisticated  he  selects  one  about  the 
end  of  the  list,  to  show  that  he  has  really  looked 
at  them  all.  It  is  a  mere  chance  if  he  hits  upon  a 
reasonable  word  to  fit  into  his  context.  The  danger 
is  greatly  enhanced  if  the  dictionary  is  a  mere  list 
of  words,  a  vocabulary.  With  a  dictionary  of  this 
kind  a  boy  will  unblushingly  present  pater  genus 
as  his  version  of  "kind  father."  It  is  true  that  genus 
means  kind,  but  kind  in  the  sense  of  sort  or  species. 
Here  the  word  genus  is  a  substantive  or  noun  and 
obviously  is  not  to  be  used  as  an  adjective,  and  a 
student  who  had  exercised  the  least  care  would  have 
been  warned  off  such  a  mistake  by  finding  after 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

the  word  the  contraction  subs,  or  at  anyrate  the 
letter  «. 

Sometimes,  to  be  sure,  there  is  a  list  of  nouns 
that  look  equally  well  to  the  student,  and  he  has 
to  take  his  choice  among  them.  Thus,  in  French, 
a  boy  may  show  up  the  sentence:  "M.  Rondeau 
etait  la  meilleure  allumette  de  la  ville."  When  he 
looked  up  the  word  match,  he  had  his  choice  of 
egal,  pareil,  parti,  manage,  alliance,  allumette,  and 
meche.  Of  these  the  only  one  he  was  sure  could 
not  be  right  was  manage,  since  it  would  be  absurd 
to  say  that  a  man  was  a  marriage.  He  did  not  like 
to  take  the  very  last  word  offered,  so  compromised 
on  allumette. 

The  same  thing  naturally  applies  to  adjectives. 
The  word  chosen  may  be  an  adjective  right  enough 
and  yet  not  the  right  adjective.  When  a  student 
shows  up  "une  opinion  indigente"  as  French  for  "a 
poor  opinion,"  he  is  using  a  wrong  adjective.  In 
this  particular  case,  the  boy  explained  that  he  knew 
the  ordinary  French  word  for  poor  all  right,  but 
pauvre  seemed  to  him  too  easy  and  common  a  word ; 
so  he  had  looked  up  the  English  part  of  his  dic- 
tionary and  thus  come  to  disaster.  If  this  boy  had 
had  any  feeling  for  words,  he  would  have  guessed 
from  its  English  equivalent  that  the  adjective  in- 
digent had  to  do  with  the  particular  kind  of  poverty 
that  can  be  expressed  in  terms  of  lack  of  money, 
and  therefore  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  matter  of 
opinion.  The  boy  was  right  enough,  as  it  happens, 
[192] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

in  thinking  that  pauvre  was  too  familiar  a  word  for 
this  connexion,  and  with  his  limited  knowledge  of 
French  he  could  not  be  expected  to  be  aware  that 
the  appropriate  word  is  triste.  Still,  if  he  had  had 
the  sense  and  the  opportunity  of  turning  up  a  bigger 
dictionary,  one  that  gives  illustrative  instances,  it  is 
almost  certain  that  he  would  have  found  an  example 
of  triste  used  in  this  special  sense. 

Without  going  the  length,  then,  of  burning  all 
the  English-Foreign  dictionaries,  we  may  lay  down 
the  principle  that  these  should  be  used  sparingly. 
In  particular,  small  dictionaries  of  this  kind  are  to 
be  avoided.  These  are  little  more  than  lists  of 
words,  with  no  indication  of  special  connexions  in 
which  they  should  be  used.  Most  of  the  bigger  dic- 
tionaries give  such  suggestions  about  the  nature  of 
the  words  as  prevent  the  careful  student  from  mak- 
ing a  serious  misuse  of  a  term.  We  are  always 
entitled  to  use  the  English  side  of  a  dictionary  when 
we  remember  vaguely  the  sort  of  word  we  want 
and  feel  sure  that  we  would  recognize  it  when  we 
see  it.  For  example,  we  may  know  definitely  that 
there  is  a  French  equivalent  for  donkey,  and  that 
it  is  different  from  the  ordinary  word  ane,  but  we 
forget  what  that  equivalent  is.  When  we  turn  up 
the  dictionary  under  the  word  donkey  and  find  the 
word  baudet,  we  know  that  that  is  exactly  what  we 
want.  We  recognize  the  word,  though  we  were 
unable  to  recall  it.  Speaking  generally,  indeed,  the 
English  part  of  a  foreign  dictionary  should  always 
[193] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

be  used  under  the  condition  that  it  is  in  every  case 
to  be  edited  by  the  experience  of  the  student.  It  is 
a  capital  rule  never  to  use  a  word  that  we  find  in 
a  dictionary  unless  we  have  some  memory  of  having 
seen  that  word  actually  used  in  the  language  in 
question.  The  student,  in  fact,  is  entitled  to  any 
word  a  book  can  offer  him,  if  only  his  previous 
knowledge  is  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  make  an 
intelligent  use  of  that  word. 

You  will  note  that  stress  has  been  laid  on  the  size 
of  a  dictionary,  and  this  has  been  done  deliberately, 
for  size  is  an  important  factor  in  determining  the 
use  to  be  made  of  a  dictionary,  whether  foreign  or 
English.  Even  in  the  case  of  the  purely  English 
dictionary  we  have  various  sizes,  with  their  corre- 
sponding uses.  First  of  all  there  is  the  little  diction- 
ary that  lies  on  the  desk  of  the  person  who  is  shaky 
in  spelling.  Where  meanings  of  words  come  into 
consideration,  a  somewhat  larger  dictionary  is  re- 
quired. A  further  demand  for  the  derivation  of 
words  and  their  history  makes  still  bigger  books 
necessary.  Then  we  come  to  dictionaries  that  give 
all  manner  of  illustrative  quotations  under  each 
word.  To  these  there  is  almost  no  limit  of  size.  The 
Century  Dictionary  (six  volumes),  The  Standard 
Dictionary  (two  huge  volumes),  The  Imperial  Dic- 
tionary (four  volumes),  The  Encyclopaedic  Diction- 
ary (seven  volumes  and  a  supplementary  volume) 
are  all  excellent.  They  combine  the  good  qualities 
of  a  dictionary  with  those  of  an  effective  small 
[194] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

encyclopaedia.  In  this  respect  they  differ  from  the 
monumental  work  edited  by  Sir  James  A.  H. 
Murray,  called  A  New  English  Dictionary  on  His- 
torical Principles,  or,  for  short,  The  Oxford  Dic- 
tionary. This  is  often  spoken  of  as  the  greatest 
dictionary  that  has  ever  been  published.  It  is  purely 
literary,  omits  the  encyclopaedic  element,  and 
specializes  on  the  use  of  words  as  words.  It  is 
specially  valuable  through  its  copious  illustrations 
of  words  as  found  in  standard  authors  and  in  ordi- 
nary speech. 

So  far  we  have  been  dealing  with  ordinary  dic- 
tionaries, in  which  the  main  interest  is  in  words,  but 
the  convenience  of  the  alphabetical  arrangement  of 
information  is  so  great  that  it  has  been  applied  in 
other  directions.  At  the  end  of  any  of  the  bigger 
dictionaries  you  will  find  lists  of  various  kinds  all 
giving  information  that  it  is  hardly  the  business  of 
the  ordinary  dictionary-maker  to  provide.  Thus, 
turning  to  the  end  of  the  second  volume  of  my  copy 
of  Webster's  International  Dictionary  of  the  Eng- 
lish Language,  I  find  the  following  additional  dic- 
tionaries: (i)  an  Explanatory  and  Pronouncing 
Dictionary  of  the  Names  of  Fictitious  Persons, 
Places,  etc.;  (2)  a  Pronouncing  Gazeteer  or  Geo- 
graphical Dictionary  of  the  World;  (3)  a  Pronounc- 
ing Biographical  Dictionary;  (4)  a  Pronouncing 
Vocabulary  of  Greek  and  Latin  Proper  Names;  (5) 
a  Pronouncing  Vocabulary  of  Common  English 
Christian  Names;  (6)  a  Dictionary  of  Quotations, 

[195] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

Words,  Phrases,  Proverbs  and  Colloquial  Expres- 
sions from  the  Greek,  the  Latin,  and  Modern 
Foreign  Languages;  (7)  an  Alphabetical  Catalogue 
of  Abbreviations  and  Contractions  used  in  Writing 
and  Printing;  (8)  a  List  of  the  Arbitrary  Signs 
used  in  Writing  and  Printing. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  what  a  storehouse  of  infor- 
mation is  here  provided.  With  one  of  those  big 
dictionaries  at  hand,  with  its  supplementary  lists,  it 
is  astonishing  how  independent  the  private  student 
may  be.  These  supplementary  lists  are  often  quite 
interesting  in  themselves,  and  an  idle  half-hour 
might  be  worse  spent  than  in  glancing  over  them. 
But  this  is  not  the  use  for  which  they  are  intended. 
Just  as  the  ordinary  dictionary  is  not  meant  to 
supply  words  to  be  used,  so  these  special  dictionaries 
are  not  meant  to  give  information  as  a  text-book 
would,  but  to  supply  at  a  moment's  notice  a  piece  of 
information  that  is  necessary  to  enable  us  to  under- 
stand something  that  we  are  reading  or  studying. 
Some  authors  are  very  "allusive,"  by  which  it  is 
meant  that  they  are  much  given  to  referring  without 
explanation  to  things  found  in  other  books  and 
languages.  A  well-educated  and  widely-read  man 
can  usually  follow  all  the  references  made  by  such 
allusive  writers,  but  a  young  student  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  catch  en  to  all  the  author  suggests.  It 
is  in  trouble  of  this  kind  that  these  supplementary 
dictionaries  are  a  very  present  help.  Frequently 
you  will  have  to  spend  a  little  more  time  over  a 
[196] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

matter  than  you  need  have  had  you  but  had  fuller 
information  to  start  with.  For  example,  a  student 
came  across  a  reference  to  a  person  called  Prester 
John.  He  looked  up  the  Biographical  Dictionary 
first,  under  Prester  and  then  under  John,  without 
success.  Then  he  turned  to  the  Dictionary  of  Ficti- 
tious Persons,  where  he  found  this  was  "the  name 
given  in  the  Middle  Ages  to  a  supposed  Christian 
sovereign  and  priest  of  the  interior  of  Asia,  whose 
dominions  were  variously  placed."  In  this  case  the 
student  was  somewhat  to  blame  for  the  time  he 
wasted  in  looking  up  the  Biographical  Dictionary 
first,  for  the  passage  that  had  led  him  to  make  in- 
quiries ran,  "as  mythical  as  Prester  John."  From 
this  he  ought  at  once  to  have  inferred  that  he  was 
dealing  with  a  person  to  be  found  among  the  fiction 
group.  A  little  preliminary  reflection  often  saves  a 
deal  of  unnecessary  investigation. 

Separate  dictionaries  are  also  published  of  Biogra- 
phies, Fictitious  Persons,  Quotations  and  what  not. 
There  is  one  in  particular  that  is  invaluable  to  all 
readers  who  are  anxious  to  have  light  thrown  upon 
obscure  references  in  their  reading.  It  is  called  A 
Dictionary  of  Phrase  and  Fable1:  is  the  work  of 
Dr.  E.  C.  Brewer;  and  contains  all  sorts  of  curious 
information,  arranged  in  a  very  convenient  way. 

Certain  dictionaries  are  not  very  much  to  be  recom- 
mended, since  they  are  prepared  to  meet  a  need  that 
ought  not  to  arise.  A  Rhyming  Dictionary,  for 
'Cassell :  published  price,  los,  6d. 


Making    the    Most    of  Ones   Mind 

example,  supplies  lists  of  words  that  rhyme  with  any 
given  words.  If  you  want  a  word  to  rhyme  with 
larch,  you  turn  up  this  dictionary,  where  you  find 
the  words  arranged  alphabetically,  but  placed  accord- 
ing to  their  last  letter  instead  of  the  first  Thus  for 
larch  we  turn  to  the  h's,  then  run  down  till  we  come 
to  the  ch's,  the  rch's,  and  finally  reach  the  arch's. 
In  one  such  dictionary1  we  find  the  following  list: 
arch,  search,  cimeliarch,  chiliarch,  mysterlarch, 
patriarch,  heresiarch,  larch,  March,  anarch,  monarch, 
parch,  hierarch,  tetrarch,  starch.  Obviously  not  all 
these  words  rhyme  with  larch,  though  they  all  end 
in  the  same  four  letters.  The  reader  is  supposed  to 
use  his  intelligence  in  selecting  what  meets  his  needs. 
Other  rhyming  dictionaries  confine  themselves  to 
words  that  do  rhyme.  Thus  in  one  dictionary2  is 
found  the  following  list :  arch,  march,  parch,  starch, 
and  the  reader  has  the  assurance  that  he  has  here 
all  the  possible  English  rhymes  to  larch. 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  many  people  object  to  this 
hunting  for  rhymes.  They  maintain  that  unless  the 
appropriate  words  suggest  themselves  there  is  little 
chance  of  anything  really  artistic  resulting.  The 
objection  is  the  same  as  that  we  made  to  the  use  of 
the  dictionary  as  a  mere  verbal  mine  from  which  to 
dig  out  words  to  express  our  meaning.  I  have  heard 
this  word-digging  defended  by  a  reference  to  what 
Kipling  says  of  his  early  work :  "I  dredged  the  dic- 

*Walker's  Rhyming  Dictionary  (Routledge). 
'The  Rhymer's  Lexicon   (Routledge). 
[I98] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

tionary  for  adjectives."  But  when  you  consider  the 
matter,  you  will  see  that  he  was  not  seeking 
unknown  adjectives  by  running  his  eye  up  and  down 
the  columns  of  the  dictionary.  What  he  did  was 
to  use  the  dictionary  as  a  reviver  of  words  with 
which  he  was  familiar.  In  the  same  way  a  rhyming 
dictionary  may  be  to  some  extent  justified  as  a  means 
of  presenting  a  complete  list  of  the  possibilities,  the 
whole  merit  of  the  writer  lying  in  the  skill  with 
which  he  chooses  the  appropriate  word. 

A  dictionary  of  synonyms  is  open  to  somewhat 
the  same  objection  as  the  rhyming  dictionary, 
though  perhaps  in  a  less  degree;  for  it  is  conceivable 
that  a  student  may  want  to  look  up  synonyms  in 
order  to  discriminate  carefully  among  them,  and 
not  merely 'to  find  a  word  to  alternate  with  another. 
Remember  that  in  the  last  resort  there  are  really 
no  such  things  as  synonyms.  However  alike  two 
words  may  appear  to  be  in  meaning,  there  is  always 
just  that  shade  of  difference  between  them  that 
makes  one  right  and  the  other  wrong  in  any  par- 
ticular case.  It  is  this  delicate  perception  of  the  only 
word  that  really  suits  the  particular  occasion  that 
marks  the  artist  in  words. 

There  is  another  kind  of  dictionary  that  is  of 
great  use  to  all  who  have  much  to  do  with  reading 
and  writing.  This  is  called  a  concordance,  and  con- 
sists of  a  collection  of  the  more  striking  passages 
in  any  author  arranged  under  the  characteristic  words 
to  be  found  in  these  passages.  This  enables  us  to 
[199] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

find  with  the  minimum  of  trouble  exactly  where  a 
certain  passage  occurs.  If  we  wish,  for  example, 
to  find  where  the  passage  "The  wages  of  sin  is 
death"  occurs  in  the  Bible,  we  take  a  concordance 
of  the  Bible  and  turn  up  any  one  of  the  important 
words — "wages,  sin,  death — and  we  find  the  passage 
quoted,  with  the  reference  Romans  6.  23.  Now 
though  it  is  true  that  the  passage  occurs  in  the  con- 
cordance under  all  three  words,  it  is  not  a  matter 
of  indifference  which  of  them  you  choose  as  your 
guide.  The  principle  to  follow  is  always  to  select 
the  word  that  is  least  common.  Of  the  three  words, 
wages,  sin,  death,  the  first  is  to  be  preferred,  as  it 
does  not  occur  so  frequently  in  the  Bible  as  the  other 
two.  In  point  of  fact,  if  you  care  to  look  up  a  Bible 
concordance,  you  will  find  that  there  are  not  more 
than  about  fourteen  references  under  wages,  while 
there  are  two  or  three  columns  of  references  to  sin, 
and  about  as  many  to  death.  There  are  concord- 
ances to  several  of  our  great  writers.  Mrs.  Cowden 
Clarke  has  an  excellent  Complete  Concordance  to 
Shakespeare,  for  example,  and  though  there  is 
not  yet  a  complete  concordance  to  Dickens,  there 
is  an  excellent  Dickens'  Dictionary,  by  Gilbert  A. 
Pierce,  which  provides  a  "Key  to  the  Charac- 
ters and  Principal  Incidents  in  the  Tales  of  Charles 
Dickens." 

You  will  have  noticed  that  the  use  of  the  word 
"dictionary"  is  rather  loose.    Referring  to  Webster, 
I  find  that  dictionary  means,  in  the  first  place,  "a 
[  200] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

book  containing  the  words  of  a  language  arranged 
alphabetically,  with  explanations  of  their  meanings; 
a  lexicon;  a  vocabulary;  a  word-book";  and  in  a 
secondary  way,  "a  book  containing  the  words  be- 
longing to  any  system  or  province  of  knowledge;  as 
a  dictionary  of  medicine  or  of  botany;  a  biographical 
dictionary."  The  point  common  to  the  principal 
and  the  derived  meaning  of  the  word  dictionary  is 
clearly  that  it  deals  with  "the  words,"  and  with 
these  in  an  alphabetical  order.  Its  business  is  re- 
garded as  complete  when  it  has  given  the  meanings 
of  the  words  involved,  whether  in  connexion  with 
Medicine,  Botany,  or  Charles  Dickens.  The  sub- 
ject-matter is  not  the  important  thing,  but  the  words 
and  their  special  application.  Yet  it  is  clear  that 
we  often  go  to  a  dictionary  for  information  that 
does  not  stop  at  words.  In  some  of  our  bigger 
dictionaries,  for  example,  we  get  a  fairly  full  account 
of  certain  things,  with  drawings  and  descriptions 
that  certainly  carry  us  far  beyond  the  range  of  mere 
words.  And,  after  all,  this  tendency  of  dictionaries 
to  become  storehouses  of  general  knowledge  is  only 
a  recurrence  to  what  was  a  former  use  of  the  word 
dictionary. 

When  books  were  rare  and  knowledge  limited, 
there  was  not  the  same  dividing  up  of  the  realm 
of  knowledge  into  separate  departments  that  is  com- 
mon to-day.  People  did  not  then  talk  about  "sub- 
jects" as  we  do.  With  the  limited  amount  of 
knowledge  then  available  it  was  not  impudent,  as 
[201] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

it  would  be  now,  for  a  man  to  "take  all  knowledge 
to  his  province."  Accordingly  it  was  not  unusual 
for  a  man  to  write  a  treatise  in  which  he  hoped  to 
include  all  human  knowledge.  Even  as  late  as  the 
sixteenth  century  it  was  still  possible  for  a  man 
to  publish  an  encyclopaedia  that  was  supposed  to 
exhaust  human  knowledge.  Early  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  we  have  an  encyclopaedia  published 
by  Johann  Heinrich  Alsted.  This  professed  to  give 
a  complete  account  of  human  knowledge,  but  was 
superseded  in  1673  by  an  encyclopaedia  published 
by  a  Frenchman  called  Louis  Moreri.  The  great  im- 
provement introduced  by  Moreri  was  that  he  did  not 
attempt  to  arrange  his  matter  like  Alsted  on  what 
was  called  a  scientific  basis.  He  did  not  classify 
his  information  according  to  the  connexion  of  one 
subject  with  another.  He  adopted  the  alphabetic 
system,  so  that  while  his  readers  did  not  have,  as  in 
Alsted's  work,  a  consecutive  presentation  of  knowl- 
edge, they  had  the  great  advantage  of  being  able 
to  turn  at  a  moment's  notice  to  the  particular  bit 
of  knowledge  that  they  wanted.  It  is  obvious  that 
in  introducing  this  change  Moreri  acknowledged  the 
predominance  of  words,  that  his  work  was,  in  fact, 
a  dictionary  rather  than  a  mere  encyclopaedia.  In- 
deed, he  marked  his  change  in  attitude  by  the  adop- 
tion of  a  different  form  of  title.  He  dropped 
Alsted's  word  Encyclopaedia  and  called  his  work  The 
Great  Historical  Dictionary.  Since  his  time  the 
alphabetic  arrangement  has  been  found  so  satis fac- 
[  202  ] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

tory  that  it  has  been  retained  in  all  the  important 
encyclopaedias  that  have  succeeded  his 

You  will  see,  then,  that  our  bigger  dictionaries 
are  becoming  practically  small  encyclopaedias,  the 
main  difference  being  that  the  dictionaries  still  retain 
their  loyalty  to  words  to  the  extent  of  including 
every  word,  as  a  word,  giving  its  use  and  derivation 
and  other  etymological  particulars,  while  the  en- 
cyclopaedias content  themselves  with  giving  only 
those  words  that  represent  matters  that  require 
explanation.  The  dictionaries  still  retain  such  words 
as  do,  'between,  often,  and,  hullo,  which,  pleasant, 
while  the  encyclopaedia  confines  itself  mainly  to 
nouns  or  such  other  parts  of  speech  as  have  acquired 
a  substantive  meaning  by  their  connexion  with  other 
matters.  The  dictionary  is,  therefore,  still  the  proper 
court  of  appeal  in  matters  of  words,  while  the 
encyclopaedia  is  a  storehouse  of  easily  accessible 
information  about  things  or  persons. 

Encyclopaedias  vary  considerably  in  size,  and 
with  the  size  we  should  vary  our  use  of  them.  We 
should  use  a  little  encyclopaedia  in  quite  a  different 
way  from  a  big  one.  The  biggest  encyclopaedia  ever 
published  is  known  as  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica. 
It  is  a  very  old  book,  the  last  volume  of  the  first 
edition  being  published  in  1771.  It  has,  of  course, 
been  revised  from  time  to  time,  and  the  current 
edition  has  been  brought  up  to  date  and  appears  in 
thirty-two  large  volumes.  The  smaller  encyclopaedias 
may  be  represented  by  Chambers'  Encyclopaedia  in 
[203] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

ten  volumes,  and  Harmsworth's  Encyclopaedia  in 
the  same  number  of 'volumes  of  a  somewhat  smaller 
size.  For  many  purposes  the  student  will  find  the 
smaller  encyclopaedias  of  more  use  than  the  larger. 
To  begin  with,  they  have  the  matter  more  condensed. 
As  a  rule  you  do  not  want  a  complete  account  of  any 
subject.  You  want  merely  that  bit  of  the  subject 
that  meets  your  immediate  needs.  When  you  turn 
up  a  subject  in  the  Britannica  you  are  frequently 
met  by  a  treatise  that  would  make  quite  a  respectable 
volume  if  published  by  itself,  and  the  chances  are 
that  if  you  are  looking  for  some  particular  fact  you 
will  find  great  difficulty  in  separating  it  out  from 
the  mass  of  other  material  that  the  encyclopaedia  so 
generously  provides.  These  long  articles  are  often 
of  the  greatest  value  in  themselves.  They  are  really 
standard  treatises  on  their  subjects  by  specialists  of 
established  reputation,  and  for  those  who  mean  to 
study  a  subject  they  afford  excellent  material.  But 
regarding  an  encyclopaedia  as  largely  a  sort  of  first- 
aid  supply  of  information,  you  will  probably  find  it 
to  your  advantage  to  keep  to  the  smaller  kinds. 

To  obviate  the  difficulty  of  finding  what  you  want 
in  the  Britannica,  its  publishers  have  added  an  index, 
which  forms  a  volume  by  itself,  and  is  most  helpful 
to  the  student.  It  seems  rather  a  queer  thing  that 
an  encyclopaedia,  the  subjects  of  which  are  arranged 
on  an  alphabetic  classification,  should  require  an 
index.  But  it  is  obvious  that  since  certain  articles 
are  as  big  as  ordinary  books,  it  cannot  be  always 
[204] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

possible  to  set  out  the  matter  in  such'  a  way  that  the 
general  reader  can  be  sure  to  pick  out  just  those 
elements  that  he  may  happen  to  need  at  a  particular 
moment.  There  cannot  be  a  separate  heading  for 
every  item  that  is  to  be  found  within  the  covers  of 
such  huge  books. 

To  illustrate  the  use  of  the  encyclopaedia,  let  us 
take  my  experience  with  regard  to  an  Italian  called 
Uccello.  I  had  a  vague  impression  that  I  had  read 
or  heard  somewhere  that  this  Uccello  was  the  origi- 
nator of  the  science  of  Perspective.  I  had  occasion 
to  use  the  origin  of  certain  sciences  as  an  illustration 
in  a  lecture  I  was  preparing,  and  I  wanted  to  verify 
my  vague  impression.  Now  this  verification  of 
floating  knowledge  is  one  of  the  chief  functions  of 
the  encyclopaedia.  Accordingly  I  turned  to  my 
Britannica  (which  was  the  Ninth,  and  not  the  newest, 
Edition)  and  looked  up  under  U,  but  found  no 
reference  to  Uccello.  Next  I  looked  up  the  index 
and  there  found  a  reference  to  a  mountain  in  Italy 
called  by  this  name.  This  did  not  promise  very 
much,  as  I  was  in  search  of  a  man,  not  a  mountain. 
However,  in  case  there  might  be  a  connexion  be- 
tween the  man  and  the  mountain,  I  turned  as  directed 
to  Vol.  XIII  and  found  that  the  Pizzo  d'Uccello  was 
6155  feet  high.  As  this  did  not  seem  to  advance 
matters  much,  I  deserted  Uccello  and  turned  to 
Perspective.  But  all  the  Britannica  had  to  say  under 
this  head  was  "See  Projection."  Naturally  I  pro- 
ceeded to  see  Projection.  But  there  I  had  little  satis- 
[205] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

faction,  for  the  gentleman  who  treated  of  Perspective 
as  part  of  this  subject  was  too  much  taken  up  with 
his  complicated  drawings  to  spare  any  time  for  the 
history  of  the  development  of  the  science.  Turning, 
however,  to  the  small  print  at  the  end  of  the  article, 
I  found  the  note  that  Perspective  dates  back  to  the 
time  of  the  Greek  mathematicians,  but  that  its 
modern  developments  cannot  be  traced  farther  back 
than  the  time  of  the  Renaissance,  "when  the  first 
books  on  the  subject  appeared  in  Italy."  This  so 
far  confirmed  my  first  impression,  but  it  was  now 
necessary  to  find  out  what  Uccello's  share  was  in  this 
development. 

My  next  reference  was  to  Harmsworth's  Encyclo- 
paedia, where  under  the  heading  Uccello  I  found 
that  this  was  the  name  of  a  person  known  otherwise 
as  Paolo  di  Dono,  who  was  born  at  Florence  and 
lived  from  1396  to  1475  >  tnat  ne  was  a  pupil  of  and 
collaborator  with  the  famous  Ghiberti;  and  that 
he  afterwards  studied  painting.  Chambers'  Encyclo- 
paedia did  not  include  Uccello  under  U;  but  in  the 
article  on  Perspective  this  book  told  me  that  the 
subject  was  known  to  the  ancients,  that  the  knowl- 
edge had  been  lost  during  the  dark  ages,  but  had 
been  revived  by  Albert  Diirer,  and  Brambantino, 
and  that  its  rules  had  been  extended  by  Peruzzi  and 
Ubaldi  (about  1600).  This  did  not  look  very  well 
for  Uccello's  claims,  and  gave  me  a  bias  against  him, 
for  I  had  been  asking  myself  why  he  had  acquired 
the  additional  name  Uccello.  I  knew  that  this  was 
[206] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

the  Italian  word  for  a  bird,  but  that  it  was  also  used 
in  a  contemptuous  sense  to  mean  a  simpleton.  I 
asked  myself  whether  the  man  di  Dono  was  called 
Uccello  in  contempt.  Everything  tended  to  dis- 
countenance the  view  that  he  had  originated  the 
science,  and  had  I  had  to  make  up  my  mind  on  the 
spot,  I  should  have  voted  against  him. 

Fortunately,  however,  I  was  not  pressed  for  a 
decision,  and  I  was  able  to  wait  till  next  day,  when 
I  could  consult  authorities  that  were  not  available 
in  my  study.  In  the  newest  edition  of  the  Britannica 
I  found  that  the  index  gave  three  references  to 
Uccello,  one  under  Bellini,  one  under  Glass,  and  one 
under  Fresco.  But  on  turning  up  the  places  I  found 
nothing  but  a  passing  reference  to  some  of  Uccello's 
paintings.  With  the  New  International  Encyclo- 
paedia I  was  more  fortunate,  for  under  Uccello  I 
was  told  that  he  was  so  called  because  of  his  fond- 
ness for  birds.  This  cleared  him  from  the  charge 
of  being  a  simpleton.  But  more  important  was  the 
note  that  "under  Manetti  he  acquired  the  facility  in 
Perspective  which  became  the  main  feature  of  his 
work."  This  closed  the  inquiry,  so  far  as  my  pur- 
pose was  concerned.  If  Uccello  had  a  master  in 
Perspective  he  could  not  properly  be  said  to  originate 
the  science,  though  he  might  well  be  its  most  brilliant 
exponent.  Had  my  main  interest  been  in  the  evolu- 
tion of  Perspective,  my  next  proceeding  would  natu- 
rally have  been  to  follow  up  Manetti  in  his  turn. 
Indeed  there  is  always  a  temptation  to  the  intelligent 
[207] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

student  to  follow  up  any  inquiry  on  which  he  starts. 
But  this  temptation  must  be  resisted.  When  we  are 
at  a  loose  end,  it  may  be  quite  a  desirable  thing 
to  follow  up  interesting  investigations,  but  we  must 
keep  in  view  in  our  studies  the  main  lines,  so  as  to 
make  systematic  progress,  and  not  be  allured  into 
following  the  strange  gods  of  desultory  reading. 
So  long,  however,  as  we  maintain  a  rational  con- 
nexion among  the  various  parts  of  our  studies,  we 
may  find  it  highly  desirable  to  follow  the  clues  sup- 
plied by  books  of  reference. 

While  the  encyclopaedia  may  be  regarded  as 
mainly  a  first-aid  knowledge-provider  in  cases  of 
emergency,  it  has  also  a  function  that  connects  it 
with  the  text-book.  A  student  may  want  not  so 
much  help  with  a  particular  point  as  a  general  treat- 
ment of  a  subject  with  indication  of  how  to  get 
further  knowledge  about  it.  Now  at  the  end  of 
every  article  of  any  importance  in  a  modern  encyclo- 
paedia there  are  to  be  found  a  few  notes  about  where 
further  information  on  the  subject  treated  is  to  be 
obtained.  Notes  of  this  kind,  giving  references 
to  books  or  periodicals  or  documents  where  further 
information  may  be  had  on  a  given  subject,  are 
called  bibliographies,  and  it  is  becoming  more  and 
more  usual  to  give  a  bibliography,  not  only  at  the 
end  of  an  important  article  in  an  encyclopaedia,  but 
also  at  the  end  of  an  ordinary  book.  These  bibli- 
ographies serve  the  double  purpose  of  giving  the 
reader  some  idea  of  the  sources  from  which  the 
[208] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

author  has  derived  his  information,  and  suggesting 
lines  along  which  the  reader  can  proceed  in  working 
up  the  subject  still  further.  It  is  becoming  more 
and  more  usual  in  giving  such  bibliographies  to 
supply  a  running  commentary  on  each  of  the  books 
or  papers  mentioned,  so  that  the  reader  is  enabled 
to  know  the  sort  of  information  he  may  expect 
to  get  from  each  of  them.  For  it  is  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  an  ordinary  reader  is  in  a  position  to 
read  all  the  books  suggested  on  a  given  subject,  even 
if  he  were  able  to  procure  them. 

Elderly  teachers,  professors,  clergymen,  and  liter- 
ary men  generally  have  a  little  grudge  against  young 
people  who  have  essays  to  write  or  addresses  to 
deliver  at  literary  societies.  These  young  people 
have  an  exacting  way  of  writing  to  their  elderly 
acquaintances,  and  even  to  people  whom  they  have 
never  met,  asking  for  a  list  of  books  on  the  subjects 
on  which  they  have  chosen  to  write  or  speak.  But 
a  great  part  of  the  value  of  the  training  involved  in 
preparing  such  essays  and  speeches  is  gained  by 
discovering  sources  for  ourselves.  The  lowest  state 
of  all  is  that  of  the  person  who  says,  "I  am  very 
anxious  to  write,  if  I  only  knew  what  to  write 
about."  This  is  a  hopeless  case,  and  such  persons 
should  be  urged  not  to  trouble  about  writing  at  all. 
But  once  you  have  selected  a  subject,  there  need  be 
little  difficulty  in  getting  sufficient  matter.  Locke 
has  an  account  of  the  pitiable  condition  of  children 
who  are  asked  to  do  a  composition  and  wander  about 
[209] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

among  their  elders  saying  "pray  give  me  a  little 
sense."  These  children  are  in  exactly  the  same 
position  as  those  who  plead  for  literary  help.  Some 
of  them,  in  fact,  do  not  content  themselves  with  ask- 
ing for  a  list  of  books,  but  coolly  ask  for  "argu- 
ments and  lists  of  heads  and  illustrations."  Con- 
sider here  what  we  have  already  said  about  providing 
our  own  premises.  It  is  not,  of  course,  possible  to 
invent  facts.  We  must  content  ourselves  with  the 
facts  that  are  available,  but  in  constructive  thinking 
the  choice  of  relevant  facts  is  of  the  essence  of  the 
whole  matter.  In  dealing  with  a  book  that  has  been 
recommended  to  us  by  some  one  else  we  must  still, 
it  is  true,  make  our  own  choice  of  the  facts  that  are 
of  importance  for  our  purpose.  But  the  choice  of 
the  book  itself  is  a  preliminary  for  which  we  ought 
to  make  ourselves  responsible. 

With  the  abundance  and  variety  of  books  of  refer- 
ence now  available  there  is  not  the  slightest  difficulty 
in  boring  into  the  very  heart  of  any  subject.  An 
ordinary  alphabetical  encyclopaedia  provides  an  im- 
mediate introduction  to  the  subject  as  a  whole,  and 
supplies  you  with  a  list  of  books,  any  one  of  which 
is  almost  sure  to  give  references  to  many  more.  Be- 
fore you  have  spent  a  fortnight  on  the  subject  you 
have  at  your  disposal  a  list  of  books  that  would 
take  years  to  exhaust.  Naturally  you  have  to  exer- 
cise a  certain  amount  of  common  sense  and  intelli- 
gence. That's  what  study  is  for.  If  you  are 
invited  to  give  an  account  of  Shakespeare's  England. 
[210] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

it  is  not  reasonable  to  turn  to  the  encyclopaedia  and 
read  up  all  it  has  to  say  about  Shakespeare,  and  then 
all  it  has  to  say  about  England.  A  great  deal  of  the 
article  on  Shakespeare  will  be  found  to  be  quite 
irrelevant,  and  practically  the  whole  of  the  article  on 
England  is  beside  the  point.  The  real  problem  is 
what  sort  of  England  did  we  have  between  the  years 
1564  and  1616? 

The  answer  is  not  to  be  obtained  directly  from 
any  one  article.  You  have  to  look  at  the  matter 
from  the  point  of  view  of  history  and  common  sense. 
You  will  turn  to  your  old  history  book  that  you 
studied  as  a  pupil,  and  there  look  up  your  period  and 
revive  your  memory  of  what  the  late  Tudor  and 
early  Stuart  period  was  like.  You  will  pay  special 
attention  to  the  section  on  social  conditions.  Then 
you  will  turn  to  whatever  books  on  Shakespeare  are 
easily  accessible,  and  glancing  through  the  contents 
and  the  index  select  whatever  seems  relevant  to 
the  particular  matters  you  are  considering.  The 
Britannica  article  on  Shakespeare,  for  example,  gives 
about  six  large  pages  at  the  beginning  to  matters 
that  directly  bear  on  this  subject.  There  is  a  mix- 
ture of  geography  and  history  that  supplies  just  the 
material  you  require,  and  if  you  have  in  view  only 
a  short  school  essay,  you  have  all  that  is  necessary. 
But  even  for  this  purpose  it  is  always  well  to  consult 
more  than  one  authority.  What  is  wanted  is  your 
reaction  to  the  facts  that  you  discover,  not  a  mere 
restatement  of  what  you  find  in  a  book,  and  naturally 

[211] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

if  you  have  consulted  only  one  book  you  have  a 
strong  tendency  merely  to  reproduce,  whereas  when 
you  have  consulted  many  authorities,  you  must  at 
least  collate. 

If  you  have  in  view  a  more  ambitious  essay,  you 
will  naturally  have  to  go  farther  afield.  You  will, 
of  course,  consult  the  bibliography  at  the  end  of  the 
Shakespeare  article,  and  see  first  which  of  the  books 
referred  to  bear  upon  your  subject,  and  then  which 
of  these  suitable  books  are  available  at  whatever 
library  is  open  to  you.  Naturally  you  will  consult 
the  "subject  catalogue"  at  your  library,  under  vari- 
ous heads  that  you  think  likely  to  offer  help :  Shake- 
speare, History,  Literature.  You  may  chance  upon 
a  book  with  the  very  title  of  your  essay.  If  you  do 
hit  upon  a  volume  on  Shakespeare's  England,  you 
will  find  it  almost  as  great  a  hindrance  as  it  is  a 
help.  While  it  supplies  you  with  a  great  deal  of 
matter,  it  limits  you,  because  it  treats  that  matter 
in  a  certain  way,  and  you  will  find  it  very  difficult 
to  avoid  adopting  the  same  line  of  treatment.  Many 
writers  when  dealing  with  a  given  subject  of  a 
literary  kind,  carefully  avoid  reading  anything  that 
is  written  definitely  under  the  same  title.  They 
want  to  be  able  to  deal  with  the  matter  freely.  You 
must  remember  that  it  is  a  restraint  even  to  have  to 
consider  how  another  person  has  dealt  with  the 
same  matter. 


[212] 


CHAPTER  VIII 


LISTENING  AND  NOTE-MAKING 

GREAT  as  is  the  difference,  many  people  do  not 
discriminate  between  hearing  and  listening. 
To  hear  is  merely  to  exercise  one  of  our  senses,  to 
allow  certain  stimuli  to  produce  a  certain  reaction 
on  the  brain  with  a  corresponding  effect  commonly 
called  a  state  of  consciousness.  We  are  intellectually 
passive  in  the  process.  Certain  sounds  appeal  to  our 
ear,  and  we  may  or  may  not  attach  a  meaning  to 
them,  but  in  any  case  we  are  not  exerting  ourselves 
in  the  matter.  In  listening  all  this  is  changed.  We 
hear  as  before,  but  we  hear  with  a  purpose :  we  put 
ourselves  in  the  way  of  hearing:  we  direct  our  hear- 
ing. When  anything  of  interest  is  uttered  within 
our  hearing,  we  are  said  to  prick  up  our  ears,  which 
is  only  another  way  of  saying  that  hearing  has 
passed  into  listening. 

Some  people  are  said  to  be  good  listeners,  but  very 

often  they  turn  out  to  be  nothing  more  than  good 

actors.    It  is  said,  by  those  who  know,  that  a  good 

actor  is  easily  detected  by  the  way  in  which  he 

[213] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

listens  on  the  stage.  The  poor  actor  thinks  he  has 
done  his  duty  when  he  has  said  his  piece  to  the  best 
of  his  ability,  but  the  good  actor  is  as  keen  on  his 
work  after  he  has  spoken  as  while  he  was  speaking. 
He  is  acting  all  the  time.  He  must  not  only  hear 
what  the  other  actors  say,  but  he  must  seem  to  hear. 
He  must  convey  the  impression  that  he  is  listening. 
A  good  listener  in  society  often  contents  himself 
with  seeming  to  listen.  The  student,  however,  must 
not  only  appear  to  listen,  he  must  really  listen.  He 
must  give  his  mind  to  what  is  being  said. 

Even  in  an  ordinary  class-lesson,  during  which 
the  teacher  does  a  certain  amount  of  telling,  and  a 
certain  amount  of  questioning,  the  pupil  must  expend 
some  energy  in  listening ;  but  when  it  comes  to  what 
is  technically  known  as  a  lecture,  the  strain  of  listen- 
ing is  greatly  increased.  Preaching  has  been  defined 
as  "an  animated  dialogue  with  one  part  left  out." 
The  definition  might  be  passed  over  to  lecturing, 
with  perhaps  the  omission  of  the  word  "animated," 
for  all  lectures  cannot  claim  to  have  the  rousing 
power  that  ought  to  be  found  in  all  sermons.  The 
important  thing  in  dealing  with  lecturing  is  to  under- 
stand that  it  implies  two  aspects,  the  speaking  aspect 
and  the  listening  aspect;  and  that  both  aspects  are 
active.  Lecturing  is  thus  a  bi-polar  process.  But 
so  is  ordinary  teaching.  There  is  always  the  teach- 
ing pole  and  the  learning  pole.  But  in  the  ordinary 
class-lesson  this  polarity  is  made  manifest.  There 
is  open  give  and  take,  overt  action  and  reaction.  In 
[214] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

the  lecture  all  the  activity  appears  to  be  on  one  side. 
The  speaker  seems  to  be  doing  all  the  work  while  the 
audience  merely  sit  passively,  and  are  acted  upon. 
But  this  is  only  an  appearance.  So  long  as  the 
audience  is  listening  there  is  activity.  It  is  true  that 
quite  a  large  number  of  an  ordinary  audience  are 
merely  hearing,  some  of  them  probably  do  not  even 
hear.  But  wherever  there  is  intelligent  listening 
there  is  active  action  and  reaction  going  on  between 
the  lecturer  and  his  audience.  The  listeners  respond 
to  the  stimuli  supplied  by  the  lecturer.  Sometimes 
they  agree  with  him,  sometimes  they  differ  from 
him,  but  always  they  react  in  some  way  or  other 
upon  what  he  says.  They  may  be  finding  illustration 
of  the  truth  of  what  he  is  saying,  or  they  may  be 
calling  up  cases  that  seem  to  discredit  his  generaliza- 
tions, but  in  all  cases  they  are  supplying,  for  them- 
selves, the  one  part  left  out. 

Leaving  out  of  account  those  whose  minds  are 
wool-gathering,  and  who  therefore  do  not  hear  at 
all,  and  those  who  merely  hear  without  giving  their 
mind  to  the  subject,  and  dealing  only  with  those 
who  are  really  listening,  we  find  that  even  with  this 
intelligent  remnant  there  is  not  that  steady  attention 
that  is  sometimes  supposed.  After  an  hour's  lecture 
it  is  not  uncommon  to  find  many  who  think  they 
have  been  listening  steadily  all  the  time.  But  this 
is  not  really  the  case:  all  listening  is  intermittent. 
We  found  that  attention  is  always  more  or  less 
rhythmical  in  its  action.  The  concentration  beat 
[215] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

and  diffusion  beat  that  we  have  already  considered 
leave  their  mark  on  listening.  Sometimes  the  lis- 
tener gives  his  close  attention  to  the  very  words 
that  are  being  said;  at  others  he  allows  his  mind  to 
play  round  what  has  just  been  said,  neglecting  for 
a  moment  the  present  words  of  the  lecturer.  But 
this  is  a  mark  of  intelligent  attention  not  inattention. 
In  point  of  fact  in  listening,  as  in  reading  a  book 
or  in  reading  music,  the  mind  always  goes  on  a  little 
in  advance  of  what  the  senses  present  to  us.  In 
reading  aloud  we  always  anticipate  what  is  coming. 
Most  intelligent  readers  have  their  eyes  far  ahead 
of  the  words  they  are  actually  uttering  at  any  given 
moment.  The  skilled  musician's  eye  outruns  the 
touch  of  his  fingers  on  the  strings  or  keys.  So  in 
listening,  the  mark  of  the  expert  is  his  power  to 
project  himself  into  the  mind  of  the  speaker,  and 
anticipate  what  is  coming.  The  really  capable  lis- 
tener often  goes  far  ahead  of  the  speaker,  and  waits 
for  him  at  what  may  be  called  the  parting  of  the 
ways  in  dealing  with  the  subject.  "When  he  comes 
to  this  point,  will  he  take  this  direction  or  that?" 
the  trained  listener  will  ask  himself.  Indeed  the 
intelligent  listener  is  asking  himself  questions  all  the 
while.  His  mind  is  not  merely  acted  upon  by  the 
stimuli  supplied  by  the  speaker:  it  plays  around 
all  the  ideas  presented,  and  comes  to  its  own  con- 
clusions. If  you  wish  to  make  the  best  use  of 
lectures,  you  must  be  prepared  to  take  a  very  active 
part  in  the  work. 

[216] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

Inexperienced  listeners  often  lose  a  great  deal 
of  the  matter  presented  to  them.  In  listening  to 
an  ordinary  sermon,  for  instance,  most  people  carry 
away  only  isolated  parts  of  the  whole.  They  listen 
in  patches,  and  from  what  they  hear  are  influenced 
by  the  power  of  association,  and  let  their  minds 
wander.  This  seems  a  little  like  what  we  have 
said  happens  in  the  case  of  intelligent  listeners,  but 
there  is  this  marked  difference.  In  both  cases,  no 
doubt,  the  mind  is  allowed  to  play  round  the  subject, 
but  the  intelligent  listener  limits  the  attention  to 
ideas  that  are  connected  with  the  main  subject,  while 
the  careless  listener  allows  association  to  carry  his 
mind  wherever  it  pleases.  Further,  the  intelligent 
listener,  giving  his  attention  to  the  subject  as  a 
whole,  is  able  to  discriminate,  as  he  goes  along, 
which  are  the  really  important  points  and  which  are 
more  or  less  subordinate.  He  utilizes  the  time  given 
to  subordinate  points  to  make  good  his  mastery  of 
the  important  ones.  The  unintelligent  listener  allows 
his  mind  to  wander  off,  now  after  important  things, 
and  again  after  unimportant,  without  discriminating 
between  them. 

The  student's  attitude  towards  a  lecture  must  vary 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  lecture.  Broadly 
speaking  the  lectures  to  which  the  student  is  called 
fall  into  two  classes.  They  are  either  inspirational 
or  didactic.  Some  lectures,  particularly  in  litera- 
ture, philosophy  and  art,  are  meant  mainly  to  stimu- 
late the  mind,  to  rouse  enthusiasm,  to  guide  taste. 
[217] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

The  communication  of  knowledge  is  a  subordinate 
end  in  such  lectures.  As  we  have  seen  in  dealing  with 
constructive  and  assimilative  study,  we  can  never 
quite  dissociate  the  manipulation  of  knowledge  from 
the  acquiring  of  knowledge.  But  in  inspirational 
lectures  the  emphasis  is  on  the  application  and  ap- 
preciation of  knowledge  rather  than  upon  its  acqui- 
sition. We  learn  a  great  deal  from  such  lectures, 
though  not  in  the  form  of  what  may  be  called  new 
facts. 

Take  the  case  of  a  lecture  delivered  by  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  of  Oxford  on  "How  to  Read  Poetry."  I 
do  not  think  I  ever  heard  a  more  useful  lecture,  and 
yet  none  of  the  audience  went  away  with  many  new 
facts.  They  did,  however,  carry  away  a  multitude 
of  new  impressions.  Many  of  them  would  certainly 
behave  differently  with  regard  to  poetry  from  that 
day  forward.  I  have  called  the  lecture  useful  be- 
cause I  think  it  could  not  help  producing  a  practical 
effect  on  the  persons  who  had  intelligence  enough  to 
understand  it.  But  probably  the  best  term  to  apply 
to  it  would  be  instructive.  Very  commonly  the 
word  instruction  is  used  as  if  it  were  merely  another 
term  for  the  communication  of  knowledge.  But 
literally  it  means  something  quite  different,  and  it 
may  tend  towards  clearness  if  we  try  to  keep  the 
literal  meaning  of  the  word,  though  you  will  re- 
member that  it  is  not  commonly  used  in  the  sense  to 
which  I  propose  to  restrict  it  here.  In  Latin  the 
word  instruere  means  to  arrange  in  proper  order, 
[218] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

and  in  particular  to  draw  up  in  order  of  battle. 
Applied  to  education,  then,  the  word  instruction 
might  be  wisely  limited  to  the  meaning  of  arranging 
our  ideas,  putting  them  in  their  proper  order.  By 
their  proper  order  we  naturally  mean  the  order  that 
is  best  for  the  particular  purpose  we  may  have  in 
view  at  the  time.  The  teacher  who  is  a  good  in- 
structor in  this  sense  is  the  man  who  has  the  power 
to  arrange  all  our  ideas  in  the  best  way  to  deal  with 
the  subject  he  is  teaching  at  the  time.  He  draws  up 
our  ideas  in  the  order  of  battle  in  our  struggle  to 
acquire  knowledge. 

It  will  be  evident  that  instruction  does  not  neces- 
sarily include  the  imparting  of  new  facts,  though  it 
does  imply  the  giving  of  new  points  of  view.  It  is 
quite  possible  to  read  a  book  and  get  from  it  no  new 
separate  individual  fact,  and  yet  to  get  up  from 
reading  it  with  the  justifiable  feeling  that  you  have  a 
better  grip  of  the  things  you  knew  before;  that,  in 
fact,  you  have  enriched  your  knowledge,  though  you 
may  not  have  increased  the  number  of  isolated  facts 
at  your  command. 

On  one  occasion  a  well-known  pleasure  steamer 
full  of  tourists  lay  off  Constantinople  for  several 
days.  After  the  sightseers  had  spent  some  days 
among  the  interesting  places  on  shore,  a  distinguished 
literary  man  among  them  gave  his  fellow  tourists 
a  lecture  on  Constantinople.  His  discourse  gave 
great  satisfaction  to  the  ladies  on  board,  but  the  men 
were  harder  to  please.  There  arose  a  discussion  in 
[219] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

the  smoking-room,  in  the  course  of  which  it  was 
maintained  that  the  lecture  did  not  contain  anything 
new.  One  of  those  betting  men  who  infest  smoking- 
rooms  went  so  far  as  to  make  a  wager  that  no  one 
could  point  to  any  fact  in  the  lecture  that  was  not 
to  be  found  in  Baedeker's  Guide-Book.  The  wager 
was  taken  up,  but  the  unfortunate  defender  of  the 
lecturer  was  unable  to  produce  a  single  element  that 
the  smoking-room  people  would  recognize  as  a  new 
fact.  The  money  was  handed  over  and  the  smoking- 
room  came  to  the  complacent  conclusion  that  the 
lecture  was  bad — which  was  where  the  smoking-room 
was  dismally  at  fault.  All  the  hard  facts,  no  doubt, 
had  been  forestalled  by  Baedeker.  But  the  same 
facts  made  quite  a  different  appearance,  and  con- 
veyed quite  a  different  impression  when  they  were 
presented  in  the  lecture.  As  found  in  the  guide- 
book, the  facts  were  dead,  inert  matter:  as  they 
came  from  the  mouth  of  the  speaker,  they  lived  and 
palpitated.  Further,  they  were  presented  in  a  way 
that  gave  meaning  to  the  experiences  the  tourists 
had  had  during  their  wanderings  through  the  city. 
They  were  presented  in  the  order  that  suited  the 
particular  occasion:  some  were  emphasized,  some 
lightly  passed  over,  so  that  the  whole  effect  was 
harmonious.  As  found  in  the  guide-book,  the  facts 
were  all  of  equal  importance :  there  was  no  light  and 
shade  among  them:  they  were  the  same  for  the 
whole  world.  As  presented  in  the  lecture,  the  facts 
were  not  different  from  what  they  were  in  the  book, 
[220] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

but  they  produced  a  different  effect.  The  lecturer, 
in  fact,  did  not  inform  his  audience,  but  he  did 
instruct  them. 

A  lecture  like  this  one  on  Constantinople  does  not 
bear  publication,  since  its  main  value  was  in  its 
applicability  to  the  special  circumstances  of  the  case. 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  lecture  is  still  less  fit  for  pub- 
lication, for  quite  a  different  reason.  Its  value  con- 
sisted mainly  in  the  illustrations.  By  reading  poetry 
in  wrong  ways  and  in  right,  he  showed  how  poetry 
should  and  should  not  be  read.  No  form  of  words 
could  convey  the  effect  of  his  voice  and  manner. 
To  illustrate,  for  example,  the  fallacy  of  the  popular 
advice  of  the  teacher  to  the  pupil  "Read  as  you 
would  speak,"  he  read  over  with  great  dignity  and 
in  a  sonorous  voice  the  passage : 

"And  when  Saul  saw  David  go  forth  against  the  Philis- 
tine, he  said  unto  Abner,  the  captain  of  the  host,  Whose  son 
is  this  youth?  And  Abner  said,  As  thy  soul  liveth,  O  king, 
I  cannot  tell." 

Then  he  repeated  the  passage  in  a  colloquial  way, 
jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  to  indicate 
where  David  was  supposed  to  be.  Now  the  repetition 
of  this  incident  to  you  has  only  irritated  you.  My 
report  has  not  conveyed  to  you  anything  like  the 
impression  that  the  lecturer  did  to  his  audience. 
Your  own  experience  has  probably  shown  you  how 
foolish  it  is  to  try  to  make  people  get  enthusiastic 
over  a  speech  that  you  have  heard  but  they  have  not. 
[  221  J 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

Certain  things  cannot  be  communicated  by  a  mere 
report. 

There  are,  however,  other  kinds  of  lectures  that 
are  quite  suited  for  report.  Their  main  function  is 
to  communicate  or  at  least  to  organize  knowledge, 
and  the  facts  communicated  may  be  quite  well  repro- 
duced in  black  and  white  for  the  use  of  another. 
We  are  at  present,  however,  more  interested  in  the 
students  who  themselves  attend  lectures,  and  who 
are  aware  that  though  they  hear  a  lecture  it  does 
not  follow  that  they  are  able  to  retain  all  the  in- 
formation it  supplies.  Experiments  have  been  made 
to  determine  how  long  the  mind  can  retain  on  the 
average  the  new  matter  that  is  presented  to  it.  The 
results  are  rather  startling.  They  are  thus  expressed 
by  a  competent  psychologist,  when  speaking  of  the 
result  of  the  teaching  at  any  class-lesson  in  the 
ordinary  school  course : 

"Remember  that  about  half  of  the  new  matter  presented 
is  forgotten  after  the  first  half-hour,  two-thirds  in  nine 
hours,  three-quarters  after  six  days,  and  four-fifths  after  a 
month."1 

It  is  absolutely  necessary,  therefore,  that  the 
student  should  make  some  arrangement  by  which  it 
is  possible  to  revive  his  impressions.  He  must  make 
some  permanent  record  by  means  of  which  he  may 
be  able  to  recall  at  will  the  important  facts  com- 
municated by  the  lecturer.  For  the  genuine  student 

'Felix  Arnold,  Attention  and  Interest,  p.  242. 
[222  ] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

this  matter  of  making  a  record  of  what  he  hears  is 
of  the  first  importance.  Dante  tells  us  that-^ 

"He  listens  to  some  purpose  who  takes  note." 

But  to  take  note  is  not  quite  the  same  thing  as 
to  take  notes.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  two  may  be 
antagonistic.  The  need  to  take  notes  may  prevent 
the  student  from  genuinely  taking  note.  Obviously 
the  mere  fact  that  he  has  to  give  a  certain  amount 
of  attention  to  the  mechanical  process  of  recording 
what  he  hears  tends  to  weaken  the  student's  power 
of  appreciating  its  meaning — at  any  rate,  for  the 
time.  Accordingly  it  is  desirable  that  we  should 
give  this  matter  our  serious  attention.  There  are 
various  forms  of  note-taking,  and  each  deserves 
consideration. 

I.  There  is  first  of  all  the  verbatim  report.  To 
adopt  this  method  implies  a  knowledge  of  short- 
hand sufficient  to  write  about  130  words  a  minute. 
Few  students  possess  such  skill;  so  it  is  comforting 
to  reflect  that  this  form  of  lecture  note-taking  is 
not  necessary,  not  even  desirable.  A  knowledge  of 
shorthand  for  use  in  other  parts  of  his  work  is  an 
excellent  thing  for  the  student.  But  those  who  have 
no  skill  in  shorthand  may  console  themselves  by 
remembering  that  no  lecture  is  worth  reproducing 
word  for  word.  If  it  is  so  full  of  matter  that  every 
individual  sentence  is  essential,  then  the  lecture  is 
over-loaded  and  as  a  lecture  is  bad.  It  ought  to 
form  a  chapter  in  a  textbook.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
[223] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

the  lecture  is  an  inspirational  one  and  depends  upon 
its  excellent  expression,  then  in  its  written  form  it 
will  lack  that  personal  vivacity  that  the  lecture- 
room  makes  possible.  In  this  case  the  student  during 
the  delivery  would  have  to  miss  the  thing  that  gave 
the  lecture  its  main  value,  in  order  to  be  able  at  his 
leisure  afterwards  to  get  its  purely  secondary  value. 
What  gives  a  lecture  its  importance  as  compared 
with  an  essay  is  that  in  the  lecture  we  are  brought 
into  the  actual  presence  of  a  man  who  is  at  home  in 
the  particular  subject  that  he  is  dealing  with.  If  we 
spend  our  whole  time,  then,  in  writing  down  what 
he  is  saying,  we  lose  the  only  thing  that  justifies  our 
preferring  the  lecture  to  a  published  work. 

Still  it  may  well  be  that  as  a  mere  matter  of  com- 
municating knowledge  the  lecture  may  occasionally 
occupy  a  specially  commanding  position.  It  may 
contain  matter  that  is  not  to  be  obtained  elsewhere. 
In  this  case  it  is  obviously  necessary  to  write  down 
this  special  matter  in  order  to  make  it  our  own. 
This,  however,  is  seldom  the  case  nowadays,  particu- 
larly in  the  lectures  that  students  are  called  upon  to 
attend.  If  a  great  scholar  or  savant  is  giving  the 
results  of  his  studies,  everybody  who  attends  his 
lecture  knows  that  it  will  be  published  almost  im- 
mediately, and  that  in  any  case  a  much  better  report 
will  be  published  in  next  day's  papers  than  any 
ordinary  hearer  could  make  for  himself.  But  it  is 
the  main  business  of  a  lecturer  to  students  to  present 
established  facts  in  the  most  effective  way,  rather 
[  224  ] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

than  to  present  facts  of  which  he  has  the  monopoly. 
It  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  lecturers  do  excellent 
work  by  presenting  facts  in  the  way  that  is  most 
convenient  for  the  particular  persons  they  are  ad- 
dressing. All  that  is  said  may  be  found  in  books, 
but  those  books  may  not  be  readily  accessible,  and 
in  any  case  young  students  may  not  have  the  time 
to  seek  out  the  knowledge  that  is  widely  scattered 
over  many  books.  In  view  of  all  this,  it  is  clear  that 
it  is  not  necessary  to  write  down  every  word  that 
any  lecturer  says,  however  distinguished  he  may  be. 
In  every  lecture  there  must  be  a  certain  amount  of 
"padding,"  that  is  material  to  fill  up  space.  This  is 
not  written  by  way  of  complaint.  Padding  in  a 
lecture  is  as  useful  and  as  necessary,  as  connective 
tissue  in  the  human  body.  It  is  necessary  that  the 
various  organs  of  the  body  should  be  kept  together 
and  the  interstices  decently  filled  up.  Accordingly, 
there  is  found  in  the  body  a  certain  neutral  substance 
known  as  connective  tissue.  In  its  negative  way  it 
is  of  vital  importance.  So  in  a  lecture,  the  important 
and  significant  points  must  be  kept  in  their  proper 
relation  to  one  another  by  an  appropriate  amount  of 
verbal  matter  that  is  not  in  itself  of  value.  In  taking 
notes  you  will  find  this  mental  connective  tissue  an 
excellent  thing  to  omit. 

It  has  to  be  remembered  that  a  lecture  is  not 

merely  a  chapter  from  a  text-book  read  aloud  to  an 

audience.    A  delivered  address  differs  in  kind  from  a 

printed  pamphlet.    The  very  style  of  the  English  is 

[225] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

different  in  the  two  cases.  If  you  care  to  look  into 
this  matter  you  will  easily  note  the  difference.  You 
will  probably  remember  from  your  text-books  in 
English  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  sentences,  the 
loose  and  the  periodic.  Experience  shows  me  that 
students,  when  asked  their  opinion  about  which  of 
these  kinds  is  the  better,  vote  overwhelmingly  in 
favour  of  the  periodic.  The  name  naturally  produces 
this  result.  What  can  you  expect  from  a  sentence 
that  is  deliberately  labelled  "loose."  And  yet  there 
is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in  favour  of  this  style  of 
sentence  in  lecturing  as  opposed  to  writing.  If  you 
take  careful  note  of  the  language  of  your  lecturers, 
you  will  find  that  the  sentences  are  mostly  loose. 

You  remember  that  the  loose  sentence  is  one  that 
begins  in  an  easy,  straightforward  way  and  goes  on 
from  point  to  point  without  elaboration  and  making 
each  clear  as  it  arises. 

If  you  turn  to  your  Robinson  Crusoe  you  will  find 
that  it  begins:  "I  was  born  in  the  year  1632,  in  the 
City  of  York,  of  a  good  family,  though  not  of  that 
country,  my  father  being  a  foreigner  of  Bremen, 
who  settled  first  at  Hull:  he  got  a  good  estate  by 
merchandise,  and  leaving  off  his  trade,  lived  after- 
ward at  York,  from  whence  he  had  married  my 
mother,  whose  relations  ..."  and  so  on.  Each 
point  as  it  rises  explains  itself,  and  there  is  no 
reason  why  the  sentence  should  stop  at  one  place 
rather  than  another,  except  the  consideration  of 
length.  The  periodic  sentence,  on  the  other  hand, 
[226] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

is  so  organized  that  the  full  meaning  cannot  be 
known  till  the  end  has  been  reached.  All  the  con- 
ditional clauses  are  placed  first,  and  it  is  only  at 
the  end  that  the  full  meaning  becomes  clear. 

"That  St.  Paul  was  struck  blind  at  Damascus, 
that  he  had  to  gaze  steadfastly  in  order  to  distin- 
guish the  High  Priest,  that  he  wrote  to  the  Galatians 
in  large  characters,  that  these  same  Galatians  were 
at  one  time  willing  to  give  even  their  own  eyes  for 
him,  all  lead  us  to  believe  that  .  .  ." 

Up  to  this  point  it  is  almost  impossible  to  guess 
what  the  meaning  of  the  whole  sentence  is.  But 
when  the  words  are  added : 

".  .  .  St.  Paul's  'thorn  in  the  flesh'  consisted  in 
a  weakness  of  the  eyes,"  we  are  clear  about  what  the 
author  means,  whether  we  agree  with  him  or  no. 

Now  of  the  two  kinds  of  sentences  it  will  be  ad- 
mitted that  the  loose  is  the  better  for  the  purposes 
of  the  lecturer.  The  periodic  sentence  is  quite  ad- 
missible in  print,  for  the  reader  may  turn  back  to 
the  beginning  of  the  sentence  and  see  whether  the 
arguments  there  offered  justify  the  conclusion 
reached.  But  the  mere  listener  is  not  in  this  position. 
If  a  long  sentence  depends  for  its  ultimate  meaning 
upon  the  last  clause,  it  is  plain  that  the  listener  is 
placed  at  a  great  disadvantage.  You  will  not  make 
the  mistake  of  thinking  that  all  this  forms  a  plea 
for  careless  composition  in  a  lecture.  All  that  is 
claimed  is  that  the  composition  of  a  lecture  should 
be  different  in  kind  from  that  of  a  printed  essay. 
[227] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

So  with  the  arrangement  of  matter.  Certain  things 
are  permissible  in  a  lecture  that  would  be  out  of 
place  in  a  book.  For  example,  not  only  is  a  certain 
amount  of  repetition  not  objectionable  in  a  lecture, 
it  is  positively  desirable.  This  does  not  mean  mere 
verbal  repetition,  but  repetition  of  the  same  matter  in 
a  slightly  different  form.  Necessary  as  are  these  repe- 
titions, they  need  not  appear  in  the  student's  notes. 
II.  The  second  kind  of  note-taking  is,  if  anything, 
worse  than  the  verbatim  form.  It  consists  in  writing 
out  as  much  of  the  lecture  as  the  student  can  manage 
to  get  down  in  longhand.  This  really  is  an  attempt 
to  treat  the  lecture  as  a  sort  of  dictation  lesson.  The 
question  was,  indeed,  seriously  discussed  long  ago 
among  the  Jesuits — who  are  noted  for  their  skill  as 
teachers — whether  lecturing  should  be  so  carried  on 
that  every  word  of  the  lecturer  could  be  taken  down 
in  longhand.  The  result  of  the  discussion  was  that 
dictation,  for  they  recognized  that  this  was  what  the 
proposal  amounted  to,  was  rejected  as  uneducational. 
A  compromise  between  the  verbatim  and  the  dicta- 
tion method  is  sometimes  adopted  by  professors,  who 
insist  upon  their  students  really  listening  to  them 
while  lecturing,  but  who  make  up  for  the  prohibition 
of  note-taking  during  the  delivery  of  the  lecture  by 
pausing  every  ten  minutes  or  so  and  dictating  a 
short  paragraph  containing  the  substance  of  what 
has  been  said.  If  you  care  to  turn  to  Sir  William 
Hamilton's  published  lectures,  you  will  find  these 
dictated  passages  marked  by  a  little  circle.  If  you 
[228] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

read  over  the  lecture  first  and  then  read  over  the 
dictated  paragraphs  consecutively,  you  will  find  that 
these  paragraphs  contain  the  essence  of  the  whole 
lecture. 

What  weighs  a  good  deal  with  students  in  their 
attempts  to  get  as  much  of  the  very  words  of  the 
lecture  as  they  can,  is  that  in  many  cases  the  lecturer 
is  also  the  examiner  in  the  subject,  and  there  is  an 
ineradicable  belief  among  students  that  the  lecturer 
always  likes  to  get  back  his  own  words.  You  may 
rest  assured  that  the  belief  is  unfounded.  Even  the 
most  conceited  lecturer  soon  tires  of  his  own  words 
frequently  repeated.  You  will  fare  much  better  at 
your  examination  if  you  rely  upon  mastering  the 
meaning,  and  clothing  it  in  your  own  language.  The 
inevitable  result  of  the  desire  to  write  down  the 
bulk  of  the  lecture  is  that  the  students  lose  the  mean- 
ing of  the  lecture  as  a  whole.  In  the  pursuit  of  the 
shadow  they  lose  the  substance.  They  are  kept  so 
busy  writing  down  the  mere  words  that  they  have 
no  time  to  give  to  the  sense.  Further,  the  hand- 
writing degenerates  under  the  strain,  with  the  result 
that  the  students  first  of  all  spend  the  whole  lecture 
hour  merely  scribbling  down  as  much  as  they  can, 
then  they  have  to  waste  a  great  deal  of  time  de- 
ciphering the  very  words  they  have  written,  and 
finally  they  have  to  enter  upon  a  struggle  to  get  some 
meaning  out  of  the  whole. 

III.  Accordingly,  there  is  a  natural  tendency  to 
adopt  the  third  kind  of  note-taking,  which  has  at 
[229] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

least  the  great  advantage  that  it  permits  of  intel- 
ligent listening.  This  consists  in  writing  down 
nothing  but  striking  facts  or  expressions,  whatever, 
in  short,  appeals  to  the  student  as  worthy  of  special 
notice.  In  a  didactic  lecture,  for  example,  a  great 
many  individual  facts  are  usually  given,  and  many 
of  these  are  worth  noting  at  once,  since  the  facts 
are  useful  in  themselves,  and  can  be  jotted  down 
without  undue  expenditure  of  time  and  without  dis- 
tracting attention  from  the  main  subject  of  the 
lecture.  But  sometimes  a  series  of  facts  or  figures 
is  given,  not  for  the  value  of  any  single  fact  or  figure, 
but  for  the  cumulative  effect  of  the  whole.  To 
prove  that  a  particular  act  of  legislation  produced 
a  certain  definite  effect  on  a  particular  industry,  the 
lecturer  may  quote  lists  of  annual  returns.  These 
make  their  proper  effect,  but  it  is  not  necessary  for 
the  student  to  get  them  all  down  in  his  notebook. 
It  is  enough  if  he  notes  the  general  statement  to  be 
proved  and  the  source  from  which  the  quoted  figures 
are  derived.  The  skilful  lecturer  strives  to  put  in  a 
tabular  form  all  the  information  that  he  wishes  his 
students  to  take  down.  This  he  puts  upon  the 
blackboard,  and  it  is  for  the  student  to  determine — if 
the  lecturer  gives  no  hint — whether  the  table  is  worth 
reproducing  in  the  notebook  or  not.  As  a  rule  the 
lecturer  makes  an  allowance  of  time  for  taking  down 
such  tables  as  he  considers  necessary. 

The  tendency  of  this  form  of  note-taking  is  to  be 
quite  unsystematic.    All  that  it  does  is  to  save  cer- 
[230] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

tain  facts  from  the  wreckage,  and  to  leave  certain 
marks  by  which  lost  treasure  may  be  recovered. 
Very  often  these  marks  need  not  be  at  all  elaborate. 
A  single  word  may  be  sufficient  to  recall  and  elabo- 
rate illustrations  that  in  their  original  form  took 
quite  a  while  to  work  out.  This  was  the  method 
adopted  long  ago  in  reporting  the  speeches  made  in 
the  House  of  Commons  when  it  was  not  permitted 
to  make  notes  on  the  spot  Those  whose  business 
it  was  to  give  an  account  of  what  took  place  in 
Parliament  made  some  surreptitious  notes  of  striking 
points,  and  then  went  home  and  worked  up  the 
speech  again  from  memory  as  well  as  they  could. 
Something  of  the  same  kind  must  be  done  by  the 
student,  for  unless  the  notes  are  worked  up  into  a 
reasonably  intelligible  shape  they  soon  cease  to  have 
any  value  at  all.  At  the  time,  they  have  a  sugges- 
tive value :  the  mind  is  able  at  once  to  respond  to  all 
the  suggestions  of  each  of  the  scanty  notes,  but 
after  the  interval  of  a  day  or  two  they  lose  this  power 
and  become  nothing  more  than  a  means  of  tantaliz- 
ing the  student,  who  knows  that  they  used  to  have  a 
meaning,  but  is  now  unable  to  recall  what  it  is. 

Accordingly  there  is  urgent  need  for  the  student 
who  has  taken  notes  of  this  kind  to  elaborate  them 
as  soon  as  possible.  This  is  usually  called  "writing 
up"  the  notes,  and  often  entails  a  heavy  expenditure 
of  time.  Since  the  notes  are  necessarily  not  self- 
interpretive,  if  they  are  left  over  for  a  day  or  two 
the  result  is  disastrous.  Even  when  the  notes  are 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

fairly  intelligible  in  themselves,  it  is  always  desir- 
able to  expand  some  of  them,  and  to  supply  connect- 
ing links  here  and  there,  so  as  to  make  quite  sure 
that  there  will  be  no  misunderstanding  of  their 
meaning  in  the  future.  There  is  the  additional 
advantage  that  the  mere  fact  of  revising  the  notes 
revives  the  impressions  made  during  the  lecture, 
and  therefore  strengthens  the  mind's  grip  upon  them. 
IV.  Many  lectures,  however,  are  not  made  up  of 
mere  statements  of  fact  that  can  be  recorded  in  the 
straightforward  way  we  have  been  considering. 
They  demand  consecutive  thinking  throughout  the 
whole  period  devoted  to  them.  This  is  the  kind  of 
lecture  that  demands  serious  attention  during  its 
actual  delivery.  The  student  must  listen  to  it  as  it 
comes  from  the  lecturer's  lips,  or  it  is  useless  at  the 
time,  and  beyond  the  power  of  recall  at  a  later  stage. 
The  style  of  notes  that  such  a  lecture  demands  is 
what  may  be  called  the  skeleton  outline.  There  is 
no  time  for  writing  out  complete  sentences  if  the 
student  is  to  keep  on  following  the  speaker's  thought, 
and  yet  there  are  usually  very  few  catchwords,  or 
definite  concrete  facts  to  seize  upon  as  guides.  On 
the  other  hand,  such  lectures  are  usually  prepared 
with  considerable  care,  and  therefore  follow  a  defi- 
nite plan.  Sometimes  the  lecturer  is  good  enough  to 
explain  this  plan.  He  tells  the  audience  at  the  begin- 
ning exactly  what  he  proposes  to  do,  and  then  pro- 
ceeds to  do  it.  He  tells  them,  for  example,  that  he 
intends  to  deal  with  his  subject  under  the  following 
[232] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

heads,  which  he  then  proceeds  to  state.  Sometimes 
he  goes  further  and  supplies  sub-heads.  There  is, 
of  course,  danger  here  of  the  lecturer  becoming 
pedantic  and  paying  more  attention  to  classification 
than  to  the  essentials  dealt  with.  But  this  is  the 
lecturer's  look  out.  It  is  the  business  of  the  student 
to  take  down  all  the  heads  that  are  supplied,  and  to 
fill  in  under  each  head  as  many  sub-heads  as  he 
thinks  are  implied  in  the  treatment.  Frequently, 
however,  lecturers  prefer  to  keep  their  classification 
to  themselves.  They,  of  course,  have  the  necessary 
heads  and  sub-heads,  but  they  think  it  inartistic  to 
proclaim  them.  In  this  case  it  is  the  student's  busi- 
ness to  unearth  the  heads  for  himself. 

To  do  this  successfully  demands  a  good  deal  of 
practice,  but  it  is  practice  that  well  repays  the  time 
spent  upon  it,  since  it  really  implies  a  training  in 
logical  analysis.  A  student  who  can  make  up  a 
fairly  accurate  analytical  classification  of  the  matters 
dealt  with  in  a  lecture  has  proved  himself  a  master 
in  his  craft.  To  acquire  this  skill,  however,  the 
prudent  student  will  begin  outside  the  lecture-room. 
He  cannot  afford  to  muddle  important  lectures  in  his 
early  attempts.  As  we  learn  shooting  by  beginning 
with  a  fixed  mark  and  then  passing  on  to  flying 
objects,  so  we  should  begin  our  analytical  note- 
making  with  a  printed  lecture,  and  pass  on  to  a 
spoken  one  only  after  skill  has  been  acquired  in 
dealing  with  the  more  amenable  printed  form.  You 
cannot  do  better  than  begin  by  reading  over  the 

[233] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

printed  lectures  of  some  master  of  the  craft,  and 
then  making  from  the  text  a  set  of  heads  and  sub- 
heads. Take,  for  example,  a  series  of  lectures  on 
art  that  Ruskin  once  delivered  to  his  students  at 
Oxford.  These  are  now  published  in  the  form  of  a 
book  under  the  title  of  The  Eagle's  Nest.  They  are 
specially  useful  for  your  purpose,  since  they  are 
very  well  arranged,  rather  short  (they  are  some- 
what abbreviated  from  the  form  in  which  they  were 
actually  delivered),  contain  suggestions  of  classi- 
fication, and  are  in  themselves  very  interesting. 
Some  of  Huxley's  popular  lectures,  such  as  those  on 
"Coal"  and  "A  Piece  of  Chalk,"  will  form 
thoroughly  good  matter  for  further  practice.  In 
order  that  you  may  understand  precisely  the  sort  of 
thing  that  is  wanted,  I  supply  at  the  end  of  this 
chapter  an  analysis  of  the  kind  I  mean,  made  from 
Chapter  IV  of  this  book.  You  should  turn  back 
to  Chapter  IV  and  reread  it,  making  such  notes  as 
you  think  necessary,  then  turn  to  the  analysis  and 
compare  what  you  have  done  with  what  you  find 
there. 

After  you  have  done  some  of  Ruskin's  lectures 
and  some  of  Huxley's — or  some  other  lectures  that 
you  may  have  by  you,  for  it  is  not  necessary  to 
have  the  special  lectures  mentioned  above — you  will 
find  yourself  beginning  to  understand  the  sort  of 
thing  to  look  for  in  a  lecture  or  article.  You  will 
soon  be  able  to  determine  whether  a  lecture  is  well 
organized  or  not.  For  you  will  not  infrequently 

[234] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

find  that  it  is  impossible  to  discover  suitable  heads 
and  sub-heads,  for  the  excellent  reason  that  there 
are  none  to  discover.  After  this  practice  with 
printed  matter,  you  will  find  yourself  in  a  much 
better  position  to  deal  with  an  ordinary  lecture 
delivered  to  a  real  audience. 

The  advantage  of  setting  about  finding  the  appro- 
priate headings  is  that  it  puts  you  in  the  most 
favourable  position  for  listening  to  the  lecture.  You 
come  to  it  with  your  mind  prepared.  There  are 
certain  questions  that  you  want  answered.  Know- 
ing the  nature  of  the  subject,  you  wonder  whether 
the  lecturer  will  take  it  in  this  way  or  in  that.  You 
may  know  nothing  at  all  about  the  details  of  the 
subject,  and  yet  coming  prepared  in  a  general  way 
for  the  subject,  you  are  in  a  position  to  fit  in  each 
of  the  facts  presented  into  its  proper  place  in  rela- 
tion to  other  facts  and  to  the  subject  as  a  whole. 
It  is  the  business  of  the  lecturer  to  put  himself  in  the 
place  of  his  audience  and  present  his  facts  in  such  a 
way  as  to  meet  the  special  needs  of  the  audience  here 
and  now  before  him.  But  his  work  is  ever  so  much 
more  effective  if  his  audience  meet  him  half-way. 
To  get  the  full  benefit  of  a  lecture  the  hearer  must 
bestir  himself,  and  must  feel  responsible  for  at  least 
half  of  the  activity  going  on. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  at  the  end  of  a  well 
delivered  and  well  listened-to  lecture  the  audience 
should  have  in  their  minds  exactly  the  mental  con- 
[235] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

tent  on  the  subject  that  was  in  the  mind  of  the 
lecturer  just  before  the  lecture.  The  same  view  is 
sometimes  expressed  by  saying  that  at  the  end  of 
a  well  delivered  lecture  the  notes  in  the  pupil's  note- 
books should  coincide  with  the  notes  on  the  lecturer's 
sheets.  But  this  does  not  by  any  means  follow. 
The  lecturer  uses  his  notes  for  a  purpose  quite  other 
than  that  of  the  listener.  He  may  put  down  a  great 
many  facts  that  are  of  value  as  illustrations  and  yet 
are  not  worthy  to  be  copied  down  by  the  students. 
The  lecturer,  for  example,  may  in  his  notes  write  out 
in  full  a  long  quotation  from  some  authority.  Merely 
to  refer  to  the  authority  and  explain  in  a  general 
way  what  the  authority  thinks  of  the  question  is 
not  enough.  A  paraphrase  does  not  satisfy:  the 
very  words  are  essential.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
student  may  dismiss  this  with  a  mere  note  of  the 
name  of  the  authority,  the  reference  to  where  the 
words  are  to  be  found,  and  perhaps  a  phrase  indicat- 
ing the  kind  of  evidence  contained  in  the  passage. 
The  lecturer  may  have  a  large  page  of  manuscript 
taken  up  with  a  passage  from  J.  S.  Mill,  while  the 
student  may  merely  write  the  words :  "Mill's  Logic, 
Bk.  I,  chap.  v.  §4  Ethology  =  Science  of  Char- 
acter." 

In  other  cases  the  balance  will  be  readjusted,  for 
a  mere  word  or  two  may  be  enough  to  suggest  to 
the  lecturer  what  has  to  be  said  upon  some  aspect 
of  the  subject  with  which  he  is  very  familiar  while 
for  the  sake  of  his  future  comfort  the  student  will 
[236] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

be  wise  to  jot  down  several  phrases.  In  fact,  the 
notes  of  the  lecturer  are  modified  by  his  special 
knowledge  of  the  subject,  the  special  needs  of  the 
particular  class  he  is  dealing  with  at  the  time,  and 
also  by  the  personal  peculiarities  of  the  lecturer 
himself.  In  the  same  way  the  students  have  each 
a  personality  that  will  be  reflected  in  the  kind  of 
notes  taken.  Even  in  a  well  arranged  class  there 
are  great  differences  among  the  students  with  regard 
to  their  previous  knowledge  of  the  subject,  to  say 
nothing  of  their  personal  peculiarities.  All  these 
may  and  should  be  reflected  in  the  notes.  Yet  when 
all  allowance  has  been  made  for  the  expression  of 
peculiarities,  there  must  be  a  fundamental  residuum 
of  likeness  in  all  the  notes  that  are  well  made. 
There  is  a  sort  of  lowest  common  denominator  that 
should  be  implicit  in  every  set  of  notes.  The  essen- 
tial points  should  be  present  in  each  and  in  the 
same  order.  A  skilful  person,  familiar  with  the 
subject  matter,  from  an  examination  of  any  three 
sets  of  satisfactory  notes  on  a  given  lecture  should 
be  able  to  reconstruct  that  lecture  very  much  as  it 
was  delivered.  For  the  student  it  will  be  enough  to 
be  able  to  reproduce  the  lecture  as  it  affected  him. 

ANALYSIS    OF    CHAPTER    IV 
I.   THE  Two  KINDS  OF  STUDY — assimilative  and  constructive. 

A.    Relation  of  student  to  his  surroundings. 

a.  Absorbing  and  being  absorbed  by  them. 

b.  Result  of  reaction :  being  at  home  in  his  surround- 

ings. 

[237] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

B.  Turning  fact  into  faculty. 

a.  Knowledge  as  impression  and  as  expression. 

i.    Static — mental  content   (making  outer  inner), 
ii.  Dynamic — mental      activity      (making     inner 
outer). 

b.  Relativity  of  value  of  facts. 

C.  Acquisitive  study — depending  largely  upon  memory. 

D.  Constructive  study — involving  some  form  of  reasoning. 

a.  Manipulation    of    Knowledge,   and   application    to 

new  cases. 

b.  Apperception. 

i.    Power  of  mental  content. 

ii.  Assimilation  instead  of  Acquisition. 

E.  Necessary    interpenetration   of   the    two   methods   of 
study. 

a.  In  Assimilation  reason  must  play  at  least  a  small 

part. 

b.  In  Construction  we  must  acquire  some  new  knowl- 

edge. 

F.  Preferences  of  students. 

o.  Commonplace  students — assimilative. 
b.  Students  with  initiative — constructive. 

II.  THE  BUILDING  UP  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

A.  Realm  of  the  Uncertain :  Guessing  and  its  bad  repu- 
tation. 

B.  Realm  of  the  Certain. 

o.  The  Laws  of  Thought  as  Thought. 

i.     Identity. 

ii.   Non-Contradiction. 

iii.  Excluded  Middle. 
b.  Conditions  of  uniform  result  of  honest  thinking. 

i.    Adequate  knowledge. 

ii.    Absence  of  bias. 

iii.  Application  of  the  mind. 

[238] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

C.  The  Realm  of  Guesswork. 

a.  Random  Shots. 

b.  Relation  to  hypothesis. 

D.  Practical  Thinking. 

a.  The  two  main  kinds  of  Reasoning. 

i.  Deductive   (true  of  class,  true  of  individual). 

1.  Cause  of  certainty  of  results. 

2.  Advantages  of  the  method. 

ii.  Inductive  (Uniformity  of  Nature). 

1.  Cause   of   uncertainty   of   results. 

2.  Advantages  of  method. 

b.  Progress  in  Premiss-making  or  Premiss-finding. 

i.  Number  of  cases  to   secure  sound  induction. 

Value  and  dangers  of  general  rules. 
ii.  Natural  connexions  involved  in  cases. 

Nature  and  use  of  Analogy. 

III.  APPLICATIONS  OF  THOUGHT. 

A.  Fitting  of  means  to  ends  on  ideational  plane. 

B.  Fumbling  and  pictorial  Thinking. 

C.  The  place  and  importance  of  therefore. 


[239] 


CHAPTER  IX 


CONSTRUCTIVE   STUDY  IN   TRANSLA- 
TION AND  ESSAY-WRITING 

ONE  of  the  best  examples  of  the  working  of 
constructive  study  is  to  be  found  in  the 
translation  into  English  of  passages  from  a  foreign 
language.  This  always  presupposes  a  great  deal  of 
acquired  knowledge  and  skill,  and  exemplifies  their 
application  to  a  specific  problem.  If  the  pupil  had 
to  find  out  afresh  the  meaning  of  all  the  words  in 
such  a  passage,  he  would  have  little  chance  of  ever 
making  sense  out  of  it.  At  the  same  time,  the 
ordinary  student  always  does  find  in  the  work  of 
translation  some  words  with  which  he  is  not  familiar 
or  which  he  has  never  seen  before;  and  the  looking 
up  of  these  in  the  dictionary  gives  that  supply  of 
new  matter  that  nearly  always  accompanies  con- 
structive work.  Each  new  passage  is  necessarily  a 
problem,  sometimes  easy  of  solution,  sometimes  very 
difficult;  occasionally,  indeed,  with  the  student's 
limited  knowledge,  insoluble. 

One  of  the  most  useful  forms  in  which  construc- 
[240] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

tive  exercise  occurs  in  school  and  college,  and  par- 
ticularly at  examinations,  is  the  translation  of  what 
are  usually  called  "unseens."  This  means  that  a 
passage  that  the  student  has  not  seen  before  is  set 
for  translation  under  conditions  that  prevent  him 
from  consulting  a  dictionary  or  any  other  book 
that  might  give  him  help  in  the  process.  Sometimes 
this  exercise  is  called  translation  "at  sight."  As 
almost  every  student,  at  some  time  or  other  in  his 
progress,  has  to  face  a  paper  of  this  kind,  it  is  well 
to  give  a  few  hints  on  the  whole  matter,  and  to  supply 
an  illustration  of  how  these  hints  may  be  applied. 

To  begin  with,  you  must  start  with  the  assump- 
tion that  the  passage  has  a  meaning :  a  quite  definite 
meaning.  Accordingly,  if  what  you  make  of  it 
does  not  seem  sense,  then  you  may  be  quite  sure 
that  you  are  wrong.  There  may  be  a  possibility  of 
making  more  than  one  meaning  out  of  the  passage, 
and  you  may  not  be  always  sure  which  meaning  is 
the  true  one,  but  if  you  find  that  what  you  have 
written  has  no  meaning  at  all,  then  you  may  rest 
assured  that  you  have  failed.  Your  first  principle, 
then,  must  be  to  make  a  meaning  out  of  what  is 
presented  to  you.  When  you  have  a  choice  of 
meanings,  you  must  see  to  it  that  you  take  into 
account  the  whole  passage.  You  must  do  your 
best  to  give  to  each  word  the  meaning  that  you 
have  learnt  it  usually  bears,  but  you  ought  to  make 
it  a  principle  that  the  general  consistency  of  the 
whole  passage  is  a  more  important  indication  of 
[241] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

the  meaning  of  a  word  or  phrase  than  what  you 
can  remember  from  your  dictionary  or  your  gram- 
mar book. 

The  question  is  sometimes  asked,  which  is  to  be 
preferred,  a  free  translation  or  a  literal  one?  By 
a  free  translation  is  usually  meant  a  rendering  into 
good,  flowing,  idiomatic  English  of  the  meaning  of 
the  person  who  wrote  the  passage.  The  aim  is  to 
convey  to  the  English  reader  the  same  impression 
as  the  foreign  writer  conveyed  to  his  original 
readers.  Thus  we  would  not  render  the  Latin  words 
quisque  optimus  miles  by  the  literal  every  best  soldier, 
but  by  the  ordinary  English  all  the  best  soldiers. 
In  his  orations  Cicero  addresses  certain  persons 
whom  he  calls  judices;  this  being  literally  inter- 
preted would  read  judges,  but  this  word  would  con- 
vey a  wrong  meaning  to  an  ordinary  English  reader, 
accordingly  many  scholars  would  prefer  to  render 
it  "gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  though  the  system  of 
trial  by  jury  was  not  known  among  the  Romans  in 
the  form  it  has  taken  among  us.  Er  steht  unter  dem 
Panto ff el,  in  German,  means  literally  he  stands  under 
the  slipper:  but  this  is  meaningless  to  an  English 
reader,  who  quite  understands  it,  however,  when  it 
is  rendered  he  is  henpecked. 

Generally  speaking,  then,  the  free  translation  is 
to  be  preferred  where  there  is  no  doubt  whatever 
as  to  the  exact  meaning  that  the  original  author 
desired  to  convey.  Sometimes,  however,  there  may 
be  a  difficulty  in  determining  whether  the  author 
[242] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

meant  what  he  appears  to  mean,  and  in  these  cases 
the  passage  is  usually  translated  literally.  When 
you  find  a  foreign  author  quoted  in  translation  in 
the  course  of  an  article  in  English,  you  will  some- 
times find  that  some  particular  English  expression 
is  followed  within  brackets  by  the  very  words  of 
the  foreign  language.  The  meaning  of  this  is  that 
the  English  author  wants  to  give  his  readers  the 
assurance  that  he  is  not  unfairly  representing  the 
meaning  of  the  author  he  is  quoting  in  translation. 

But  in  translating  as  an  exercise  other  points  have 
to  be  kept  in  view.  Sometimes  a  teacher  insists 
upon  a  rigidly  literal  rendering  of  a  passage,  in 
order  to  make  quite  sure  that  the  student  really 
does  know  word  by  word  what  the  author  wrote. 
For  a  clever  writer  of  English  it  is  not  very  difficult 
to  gather  the  general  sense  of  a  passage  and  then 
turn  out  an  elegant  English  paragraph  or  two  ex- 
pressing in  a  broad  way  what  the  author  meant. 
The  result  is  rather  a  paraphrase  of  the  original 
than  a  translation  of  it.  So  long  as  you  really 
know  pretty  accurately  the  exact  meaning  of  the 
passage,  you  are  entitled  to  take  a  certain  amount 
of  liberty  in  the  interests  of  good  English.  Speak- 
ing generally,  younger  students  are  encouraged  to 
give  a  fairly  literal  rendering  of  a  passage,  while 
more  advanced  students  are  allowed  greater  freedom. 

It  may  help  you  to  understand  the  proper  point  of 
view  to  remember  the  instructions  of  a  distinguished 
classical  scholar  to  the  assistant  who  was  to  mark 
[243] 


Making    the    Most    of  Ones    Mind 

the  class  examination  papers.  "Mark  the  scholar- 
ship papers  first,  and  when  a  candidate  shows  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  details  of  the  language, 
allow  him  great  scope  in  his  translation.  If  he  is 
weak  in  his  scholarship,  do  not  give  him  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt  where  his  translation  is  free."  If  at 
an  examination  you  are  in  doubt  whether  the  ex- 
aminer will  give  you  credit  for  a  particularly  free 
translation,  it  is  an  excellent  plan  to  put  in  now 
and  again,  within  brackets,  the  literal  rendering  of 
a  phrase  that  you  have  taken  liberties  with.  If 
one  had  time,  an  absolutely  literal  translation  fol- 
lowed by  a  free  English  rendering  would  remove 
all  doubt,  but  in  most  examinations  time  permits  of 
only  a  compromise. 

Some  general  considerations  may  be  suggested  in 
the  matter  of  translation  at  sight,  particularly  at 
examinations. 

(1)  Make  the  sentence,  not  the  word,  the  unit  of 
your  translations.     Do  not  try  to  remember  specifi- 
cally all  the  meanings  of  individual  words  as  found 
in  the  dictionary.    Let  the  context  decide  the  mean- 
ing to  be  borne  in  a  particular  passage. 

(2)  When  you  have  discovered  the  general  mean- 
ing of  a  sentence,  you  may  still  be  unaware  of  the 
exact  meaning  of  some  of  the  words.     In  this  case 
adopt  the  most  general  meaning  that  will   safely 
fill  in  the  sense.     If,  for  example,  you  gather  that 
a  man  moved  from  one  place  to  another,  but  you 
do  not  know  from  the  verb  whether  he  walked,  or 

[244] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

ran,  or  drove,  or  rode,  or  rowed,  or  sailed,  or  swam, 
say  simply  that  he  proceeded  there.  If  we  give 
Casar  proceeded  to  Rome  as  a  translation  for 
Romam  C&sar  properavit,  we  do  not  get  such  high 
marks  as  if  we  had  known  that  propero  implies 
haste;  but  we  would  get  more  than  if  we  had  par- 
ticularized and  said  he  sailed.  He  may  or  he  may 
not  have  sailed,  he  certainly  did  proceed. 

(3)  On  the  other  hand,  wherever  you  are  sure 
about  any  detail,  do  not  generalize  unless  the  genius 
of  the  language  demands  it.     You  are  aware  that 
Latin,  as  a  whole,  prefers  the  concrete,  and  English 
the  abstract.     But  while  in  translating  English  into 
Latin  it  is  essential  to  keep  this  in  view  in  order 
to  give  the  proper  colouring  to  your  Latin  version, 
it  is  not  so  necessary  to  make  the  English  abstract. 
We  know  from  our  own  experience  whether  our 
translation  reads  like  English  or  not,  so  we  need 
not  follow  abstract  rules  in  the  matter ;  and  in  point 
of  fact,  a  concrete  expression  in  English  where  an 
abstract  one  is  more  usual,  really  adds  piquancy  to 
the  style,  and  at  the  same  time  guarantees  your 
acquaintance  with  the  literal  meaning  of  the  word 
translated.     By  a  comforting  law  of  compensation, 
you  will  find  that  the  tendency  to  generalize  arising 
out  of  your  ignorance  of  the  meaning  of  specific 
terms,  will  always  supply  your  English  version  with 
its  proper  bias  towards  the  abstract. 

(4)  Sometimes  you  will  come  across  technical 
expressions  and  peculiar  turns  indicated  by  little 

[245] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

words.  If  these  are  marked  off  by  commas,  and 
convey  to  you  no  sense,  while  you  can  make  sense 
quite  well  without  them,  your  plan  is  to  ignore 
them  altogether.  Take  such  a  case  as  bien  entendu 
in  French,  or  'mal  in  German.  They  do  give  a 
flavour  to  the  sentence  in  which  they  occur,  and  in 
a  fine  translation  that  flavour  must  be  rendered,  but 
in  an  ordinary  translation  they  may  be  left  out  with- 
out materially  altering  the  meaning.  If  you  remem- 
ber that  mal  in  German  means  time  in  the  sense  of 
repetition,  as  in  zweiraa/  meaning  two  times,  you 
will  be  very  ill  advised  to  thrust  in  the  word  time, 
where  the  word  'mal  occurs.  Unless  you  know  the 
exact  flavour  it  ought  to  give  to  the  sentence,  your 
only  safe  plan  is  to  take  no  notice  of  it. 

To  give  point  to  what  we  have  said  about  trans- 
lation at  sight  as  a  constructive  study  I  submit  an 
example.  The  passage  is  in  French,  as  that  seems 
to  be  the  language  within  the  range  of  the  greatest 
number  of  readers.  The  principles  can  be  as  well 
illustrated  by  one  language  as  by  another,  so  those 
who  do  not  happen  to  have  studied  French  will  at 
anyrate  have  the  satisfaction  that  fewer  people  will 
be  disappointed  than  if  any  other  language  had  been 
chosen. 

I  have  set  the  passage  that  follows  to  several 

large  classes  of  students,  so  that  I  have  had  several 

hundred  versions  submitted  by  pupils  at  different 

stages  of  advancement.     In  the  comments  that  I 

[246] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

make  upon  it,  I  have,  therefore,  had  the  advantage 
of  the  actual  experience  of  those  who  have  faced 
it  as  an  unseen.  Some  of  the  mistakes  the  students 
made  seem  to  mark  a  very  low  grade  of  knowledge 
and  even  intelligence.  Yet  no  one  who  has  had 
much  experience  in  marking  unseens  will  be  greatly 
surprised  at  anything  that  occurs  in  such  papers. 
Besides,  the  more  glaring  the  blunders,  the  more 
strikingly  will  they  serve  as  beacons  of  warning. 

M.  Jolivet  est  1'homme  habitue  a  fouler  1'asphalte  du 
boulevard.  Vous  le  voyez  campe  d'un  air  crane,  comme  s'il 
devait  tout  subjuguer.  Au  fond,  c'est  un  bon  enfant.  II  se 
fourre  tou  jours  dans  des  aventures  hasardeuses  dont, 
heureusement  pour  lui,  son  esprit  et  sa  bonne  humeur 
parviennent  toujours  a  le  tirer.  L'autre,  M.  Blount,  le 
reporter  anglais,  juche  gravement  sur  son  ane,  egalement 
arme  jusqu'aux  dents,  empresse  a  devancer  son  rival  en 
cancans  politiques,  lui  tend  des  pieges  pour  empecher  d'arriver 
bon  premier. 

La  chance  les  favorise  tour  a  tour,  ainsi  que  vous  pourrez 
en  juger  par  vous-memes,  mes  chers  amis,  du  moins  je 
1'espere  pour  quelques  uns  d'entre  vous.  Vous  decrire  les 
ballets,  les  retraites  aux  flambeaux,  les  panoramas  qui  se 
succedent,  me  serait  impossible,  ce  sont  des  merveilles  qu'il 
faut  voir  et  qui  tiennent  si  peu  a  1'action  qu'on  pourrait  les 
montrer  a  part. 

After  reading  the  whole  passage  rapidly  you 
gather  that  it  is  about  two  men  whose  names  are 
Blount  and  Jolivet,  the  first  being  an  English  re- 
porter, and  though  nothing  is  said  about  Jolivet's 
profession,  we  are  entitled  to  infer  that  he  too  is  a 
reporter,  since  he  is  Blount's  rival.  The  second 
[247] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

paragraph  is  obviously  about  wonderful  sights  that 
the  two  reporters  have  had  to  do  with,  but  probably 
the  most  characteristic  point  about  this  paragraph 
at  the  first  glance  is  its  unintelligibility. 

Going  back  to  the  first  paragraph  we  may  assume 
that  the  average  student  does  not  know  the  mean- 
ing of  the  infinite  fouler.  Assuming  that  you  are 
the  average  student,  you  would  certainly  know  the 
meaning  of  asphalte,  and  you  would  have  the  idea 
that  boulevard  was  some  sort  of  street,  and  this  is 
confirmed  by  the  connexion  between  asphalte  and 
boulevard.  Jolivet  is  accustomed  to  do  something 
to  the  asphalt  of  the  street.  Had  we  not  known  his 
profession  we  might  have  been  much  in  doubt  about 
fouler,  for  there  are  a  great  many  things  that  work- 
men can  do  to  the  asphalt.  But  in  the  case  of  a 
reporter,  it  is  a  perfectly  legitimate  guess  that  tread 
is  the  meaning  of  fouler,  since  that  is  about  the  only 
thing  a  reporter  habitually  does  to  asphalt.  In  the 
second  sentence  the  words  campe  and  crane  are  the 
only  two  that  are  a  little  unfriendly.  A  man  does 
something  with  a  certain  kind  of  air,  and  since  he 
looks  as  if  he  ought  to  conquer  everything,  we  may 
make  a  fair  guess  that  it  was  a  haughty  air;  the 
intelligent  student  might  even  pass  from  crane= 
cranium  or  skull  to  the  notion  of  swelled  head,  and 
translate  it  by  swaggering:  then  taking  the  literal 
meaning  of  campe  as  camped,  we  may  change  it  into 
the  more  general  form  placed  or  planted.  You  see 
him  placed  with  haughty  air  is  not  very  far  from 
[248] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

the  truth,  and  would  get  some  marks,  though  you 
see  him  standing  there  with  a  swaggering  air  might 
get  more.  Au  fond  means  at  bottom  and  is  one  of 
those  isolated  .phrases  that  are  unsafe  to  guess.  If 
you  do  not  know  it,  therefore,  you  had  better  leave 
it  out  altogether.  Since  it  stands  by  itself  it  gets 
no  help  from  the  context,  but  as  a  compensation  it 
can  be  omitted  without  attracting  undue  attention. 
In  writing  out  your  translation,  give  no  indication 
that  a  word  has  been  omitted.  Some  teachers  insist 
upon  their  pupils  always  leaving  a  blank  in  every 
case  where  a  word  has  not  been  translated.  This  is 
an  excellent  plan  to  help  the  teacher  in  his  marking 
of  exercises,  but  it  is  not  to  be  recommended  when 
you  are  working  an  examination  paper. 

In  the  next  sentence,  aventures  hasardeuses  indi- 
cates .that  he  got  into  trouble,  but  heureusement  and 
bonne  humeur  suggest  that  things  ended  well,  which 
is  precisely  the  meaning  of  the  sentence.  He  always 
got  into  perilous  adventures  would  do,  though  he  is 
continually  thrusting  himself  into  is  more  true  to 
the  original.  Juche  is  the  first  trouble  in  the  next 
sentence;  it  is  something  passive,  as  we  learn  from 
its  form.  Now  the  most  likely  thing  for  an  English- 
man to  do  gravely  on  the  back  of  an  ass  is  to  sit. 
Seated  would  therefore  do,  though  perched  is  better. 
The  rest  is  complicated.  You  have  to  consider  what 
you  think  an  English  reporter  armed  to  the  teeth 
and  perched  on  an  ass  is  likely  to  do  to  a  rival. 
There  is  a  natural  tendency  to  translate  empresse  by 
[249] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

pressed,  and  though  this  is  not  the  true  meaning,  it 
gives  a  certain  amount  of  sense.  It  is  best  rendered 
eager:  then  the  next  problem  is  what  he  was  eager 
to  do  to  his  rival.  Obviously  not  to  help.  Devancer 
suggests  getting  in  front  of,  and  therefore  anticipat- 
ing the  rival,  in  the  matter  of  cancans.  From  the 
context  this  last  word  may  be  fairly  guessed  to  be 
news,  since  that  is  what  reporters  are  most  keen  to 
anticipate  each  other  in.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
word  is  contemptuous,  and  is  best  rendered  by  tittle- 
tattle,  but  the  more  general  word  will  carry  you 
through.  You  may  not  remember  that  the  word 
piege  means  a  snare  or  a  trap,  but  you  easily  guess 
that  it  is  something  to  prevent  his  rival  from  making 
a  good  first.  The  sentence  presents  no  difficulties  in 
making  a  literal  translation ;  the  last  clause  might  run 
at  least  I  hope  it  for  some  among  you,  though  its 
would  run  better  at  least  I  hope  so  in  the  case  of 
some  of  you. 

The  last  sentence  of  all  is  one  of  those  in  which  the 
student  is  sometimes  able  to  give  the  literal  meaning 
of  every  word,  and  yet  unable  to  make  sense  of  the 
whole.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  how  often  such  a 
sentence  is  rendered  unintelligible  by  the  remark- 
able blunder  of  making  the  first  vous  the  subject 
of  'the  verb  describe.  Once  the  student  begins  the 
sentence  with  "You  describe"  no  sense  can  be  made 
out  of  all  that  follows.  In  an  apparently  meaning- 
less sentence  like  this  it  is  often  advisable  to  write 
out  the  whole  in  bald  English  as  a  mere  literal  ren- 
[250] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

dering  of  the  words.  Thus  we  would  have  "You  to 
describe  the  ballets,  the  retreats  to  the  torches,  the 
panoramas  that  succeed  themselves  me  would  be 
impossible;  they  are  of  the  marvels  which  it  is 
necessary  to  see,  and  which  hold  so  little  to  the 
action  that  one  could  show  them  apart."  By  apply- 
ing common  sense  to  this  hash  of  clumsy  English  it 
is  possible  to  get  a  meaning  that  is  not  very  far  from 
the  original:  "It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to 
describe  to  you  the  ballets,  the  torchlight  processions, 
the  panoramas  succeeding  each  other ;  they  are  won- 
ders that  must  be  seen  [to  be  believed  or  to  be 
realized],  and  have  so  little  to  do  with  the  action 
that  they  might  be  shown  by  themselves."  This 
implies  that  they  have  so  little  to  do  with  the  action 
of  the  story  being  told  by  the  author,  that  they 
might  be  presented  as  things  by  themselves. 

ESSAY- WRITING. 

To  know  is  one  thing,  to  express  our  knowledge 
is  another.  Yet  the  two  are  inseparably  connected. 
We  never  really  know  what  we  cannot  in  some  way 
or  other  express.  In  fact,  psychologists  have  a  way 
of  saying  that  there  is  no  impression  without  expres- 
sion. You  experience  the  truth  of  the  intimate  con- 
nexion between  knowledge  and  its  expression  every 
time  that  you  seek  to  put  down  on  paper  what  you 
think  you  know.  So  long  as  the  matter  was  left 
merely  floating  about  in  the  mind  we  could  satisfy 
ourselves  that  we  knew  it,  but  so  soon  as  we  proceed 

[250 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

to  write  it  down  we  find  certain  gaps  of  which  we 
were  before  unconscious.  But  not  only  does  writing 
discover  these  disconcerting  gaps,  but  it  makes  us 
realize  that  we  have  not  any  carefully  arranged  plan 
of  relating  our  ideas  to  one  another.  Before  we 
can  set  out  our  knowledge  clearly  on  paper  we  must 
have  first  arranged  it  carefully  in  our  minds.  It  is 
for  this  reason  that  essay-writing  justly  occupies  such 
an  important  place  in  school  and  college  work.  No- 
where can  we  find  a  better  example  of  constructive 
study  than  in  the  case  of  a  student  sitting  down  to 
write  an  essay.  For  every  essay  to  be  written  in- 
volves a  problem,  and  a  two-fold  problem  at  that. 
Given  the  subject,  the  student  has  to  set  about  finding 
things  to  say  about  it,  and  at  the  same  time  he  has 
to  consider  how  best  to  say  them. 

You  are  likely  to  find  the  double  problem  of  the 
essay  very  discouraging.  It  is  always  difficult  to 
do  two  things  at  once.  You  are  so  apt  to  become 
absorbed  in  one  at  the  expense  of  the  other.  The 
tendency  of  teachers  at  school  is  to  emphasize  the 
composition  side  at  the  cost  of  the  subject  matter. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  pupils  who  have  the  actual 
essay  to  write  nearly  always  feel  the  pinch  mainly 
in  connexion  with  the  matter.  They  are  apt  to 
think  that  if  only  they  knew  what  to  say  they  would 
have  no  difficulty  in  saying  it.  In  school  essay 
writing  the  pupil  is  too  frequently  put  in  the  worst 
possible  position  for  doing  his  work.  A  very  wise 
and  experienced  teacher  once  made  the  suggestive 
[252] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

remark,  "There  is  a  world  of  difference  between 
having  to  say  something,  and  having  something  to 
say."  Too  frequently  the  pupil  in  school  is  put  into 
the  position  of  having  to  say  something.  This  is  a 
distressing  position  and  is  apt  to  paralyse  him.  The 
skilful  teacher  will  do  everything  in  his  power  to 
put  matters  in  such  a  way  that  the  pupil  knows  cer- 
tain things,  and  is  expected  to  give  his  views  on  them. 
If  this  is  accomplished  the  pupil  is  put  in  the  envi- 
able position  of  having  something  that  he  wants  to 
say. 

You  will  see,  then,  that  it  is  a  mistake  to  separate 
matter  from  its  expression.  There  is  nothing  more 
dreary  than  writing  merely  for  the  sake  of  writing. 
The  mere  word-monger  is  apt  to  become  dull  and 
pedantic,  while  the  mere  fact-monger  is  apt  to  lose 
the  power  of  clear  and  accurate  expression.  This 
is  curiously  illustrated  by  a  quarrel  that  is  going  on 
in  America  as  I  write,  among  the  teachers  of  the 
secondary  and  technical  schools.  The  teachers  are 
divided  into  the  two  camps,  the  teachers  of  English 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  teachers  of  all  the  remain- 
ing subjects  on  the  other.  It  appears  that  the  non- 
English  teachers,  especially  the  teachers  of  science, 
are  finding  that  their  pupils  are  unable  to  express 
themselves.  These  pupils  have  stopped  their  English 
course  at  an  early  stage,  and  have  given  all  their 
time  to  their  other  studies,  and  now  it  is  complained 
that  they  have  lost  their  power  of  expression.  The 
remedy  the  non-English  teachers  propose  is  that  all 

[253] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

exercises  in  every  subject  shall  be  treated  also  as 
exercises  in  English  composition,  and  marked  ac- 
cordingly by  the  teachers  of  English.  The  plan  is 
regarded  by  the  English  teachers  as  an  excellent  one, 
if  only  the  other  teachers  will  do  the  marking:  they 
decline  to  be  made  the  mere  assistants  of  the  non- 
English  teachers.  Thus  the  quarrel  stands:  for  us 
the  lesson  is  obvious.  We  must  not  separate  subject 
matter  from  its  expression,  and  the  essay  is  the  best 
form  in  which  the  two  may  be  usefully  combined. 

Some  essays  require  very  little  preparation  in  the 
way  of  supplying  subject  matter.  They  demand 
nothing  more  than  the  writer's  personal  reaction  to 
certain  suggested  particulars.  If  you  are  asked  to 
write  on  such  a  subject  as  "My  Favourite  Poem," 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  make  up  your  mind  rapidly 
which  poem  you  like  best,  and  then  describe  it  and 
explain  as  well  as  you  can  why  it  is  that  you  do 
like  it.  You  have  all  the  materials,  as  it  were,  on 
the  premises,  and  your  work  lies  in  making  a  wise 
choice  among  them.  Such  essays  as  those  of  Lamb 
belong  to  this  class.  No  doubt  many  of  them  con- 
tain a  fair  amount  of  rather  peculiar  knowledge  used 
by  way  of  illustration;  but  we  feel  that  Lamb  did 
not  go  out  of  his  way  to  acquire  this  knowledge  for 
the  special  purpose  of  his  essay.  He  draws  upon  the 
stores  of  his  memory  and  experience,  but  the  main 
value  of  his  work  is  his  personal  reaction  to  the 
matters  he  is  dealing  with.  The  same  is  true  of 
practically  all  the  work  of  those  who  are  known 

[254] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

collectively    as    the    English    Essayists — Addison, 
Steele,  Goldsmith,  Johnson,  Foster,  and  the  rest. 

But  in  school  and  college  work  there  is  a  sort  of 
didactic  essay  frequently  prescribed,  the  purpose  of 
which  is  partly  to  give  practice  in  composition  and 
partly  to  encourage  the  pupil  to  acquire  general 
knowledge,  and  consolidate  by  revision  knowledge 
he  has  already  acquired.  For  example,  junior  pupils 
may  be  called  upon  to  write  upon  Money  Orders. 
This  means  that  they  have  to  acquire  somehow  or 
other  a  knowledge  of  what  a  money  order  is,  how  it 
is  used,  and  any  other  particulars  they  think  it 
worth  while  to  learn  and  communicate.  In  higher 
classes  subjects  of  a  more  complicated  kind  are 
set.  The  Origin  of  the  Cabinet  is  really  an  exer- 
cise in  History,  The  Panama  Canal  in  Geography, 
The  Fools  of 'Shakespeare  in  Literature,  The  Fer- 
tilisation of  Plants  in  Botany. 

In  all  these  cases  there  is  no  mystery  in  the 
matter.  Everything  is  plain  and  straightforward. 
You  know  exactly  where  to  go  for  the  information 
you  require.  You  are  told  how  long  the  essay  is  to 
be,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  proceed  to  grind 
out  the  required  amount.  Your  personality  does 
not  count  for  very  much  in  such  subjects,  but  it  is 
never  negligible.  In  dealing  with  Shakespeare's 
Fools,  for  example,  you  cannot  avoid  giving  your 
personal  reactions,  even  though  you  may  find  all 
the  essential  points  of  orthodox  opinion  ready-made 
in  your  text  book.  But  in  the  other  subjects  men- 
[255] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

tioned  there  is  less  room  for  your  personality.  The 
Cabinet  and  the  Canal  certainly  give  a  little  opening 
for  your  political  views,  but  the  Fertilization  of 
Plants  is  rather  damping  to  personal  reaction. 
Essays  of  this  kind  are  merely  class  exercises  of  a 
somewhat  elaborate  nature.  They  are  more  like 
formal  accounts  of  acquired  knowledge,  and  it  is 
interesting  to  find  that  in  the  American  universities 
professors  and  students  are  beginning  to  speak  of 
reports  where  we  would  speak  of  essays.  These 
reports  are  always  understood  to  imply  a  certain 
amount  of  definite  reading,  the  results  of  which  are 
incorporated :  in  some  cases,  indeed,  the  report  takes 
the  specific  form  of  a  synopsis  of  the  student's 
reading. 

Obviously  certain  subjects  lend  themselves  to 
treatment  on  either  the  personal  or  the  report  method. 
Suppose,  for  example,  the  subject  of  Dreams  is  set. 
You  may  fairly  fall  back  entirely  upon  your  own 
experience,  describe  the  dreams  you  and  your  friends 
have  had,  give  your  memories  of  classical  dreams, 
and  your  impressions  of  what  they  are  all  worth. 
You  may  bring  in  Joseph,  Scipio,  and  as  many  more 
as  you  can  remember,  and  yet  your  essay  is  purely 
your  personal  reaction  to  the  subject.  On  the  other 
hand,  you  may  make  a  preliminary  investigation  into 
the  matter,  finding  out  what  scientific  writers  have 
said  on  the  subject,  quoting  your  authorities  and 
coming  to  some  general  conclusion  about  the  nature 
and  meaning  of  dreams.  Of  the  first  kind,  Robert 
[256] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

Louis  Stevenson's  essay  on  the  subject  may  be 
taken  as  an  example.  Of  the  other  kind,  there  is 
no  short  example,  since  people  do  not  publish  es- 
says of  the  report  type.  They  are  mere  exercises, 
valuable  for  the  training  they  give,  not  for  the  work 
produced. 

A  third  kind  of  essay  to  some  extent  combines 
the  elements  of  the  first  two.  This  may  be  called 
the  dialectic  or  argumentative  kind.  It  consists  in 
the  discussion  of  a  question  to  which  there  are  two 
opposing  answers.  Stock  subjects  of  this  kind  are: 
Was  the  English  Conquest  of  India  Justifiable? 
Should  Women  have  the  Vote  ?  Is  Mars  Inhabited  ? 
Sometimes  the  problem  is  not  stated  in  the  form  of 
a  question,  but  the  question  is  implied  all  the  same. 
If  we  have  the  subject  of  The  Character  of  Crom- 
well, or  The  Political  Work  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
submitted  for  treatment,  we  know  that  there  is  the 
implied  challenge  of  another  side,  whichever  view 
we  take  up.  In  all  essays  of  the  dialectic  type  the 
personal  element  enters  largely,  but  the  research  ele- 
ment is  not  to  be  eliminated.  Whichever  view  we 
adopt,  we  have  to  collect  arguments  in  favour  of  it 
and  against  its  opposite.  It  is  curious  to  note  how 
students  naturally  divide  themselves  into  two  classes 
according  as  the  research  element  or  the  personal 
predominates.  The  great  majority  are  under  the 
influence  of  the  personal  element.  The  common  case 
is  that  of  the  student  who  looks  at  the  question  for 
a  few  minutes,  makes  up  his  mind  which  side  he  is 
[257] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

on,  and  then  proceeds  to  hunt  for  arguments  for 
that  side.  This  is  quite  a  good  way  of  going  to 
work  so  far  as  the  mere  exercise  in  composition 
and  writing  is  concerned.  It  is  further  an  excellent 
training  in  advocacy.  From  this  point  of  view  it  is 
not  infrequent  for  teachers  to  prescribe  a  particular 
side  to  be  maintained  by  a  student  whether  he  is 
really  on  that  side  or  not.  The  justification  of  this 
is  that  it  is  often  a  means  of  getting  a  student  to 
see  with  greater  clearness  the  "other  side." 

The  research  method,  on  the  other  hand,  would 
have  the  student  start  on  the  debatable  question 
with  a  perfectly  unbiassed  mind,  seek  out  all  the 
arguments  available  on  both  sides,  and  ponder  these 
carefully.  When  every  available  source  of  evidence 
has  been  exhausted,  the  student  balances  all  the 
facts,  and  decides  on  the  one  side  or  the  other.  It 
should  be  a  point  of  honour  to  come  to  a  definite 
conclusion.  This  last  consideration  is  of  impor- 
tance to  only  a  small  class  of  students.  Most  of  us 
are  only  too  prone  to  come  to  a  definite  conclusion 
very  early  in  the  investigation,  and  cling  to  that 
conclusion,  even  against  a  considerable  amount  of 
hostile  evidence.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are 
people  with  such  a  tendency  to  hesitate  between  two 
opinions  that  they  can  hardly  ever  make  up  their 
minds  on  a  really  debatable  point.  On  a  purely 
academic  matter,  such  as  the  saneness  of  Hamlet,  a 
man  may  hold  suspended  judgment  throughout  his 
life  without  sin.  But  there  are  other  matters,  say 
[258] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

Woman's  Suffrage,  on  which  we  must  make  up  our 
minds  one  way  or  the  other  because  we  have  to  take 
some  sort  of  action.  In  order  that  we  may  be  able 
to  make  up  our  minds  definitely  in  cases  where  a 
decision  is  imperative,  it  is  well  to  acquire  the  habit 
of  bringing  all  discussions  to  a  definite  positive 
conclusion. 

You  must  not  be  misled  by  the  plea  of  the  credit- 
able desire  to  see  both  sides  of  the  question.  You 
are  entitled  to  a  sight  of  all  there  is  to  be  seen;  but 
you  are  not  entitled  to  sit  down  and  contemplate 
both  sides  indefinitely.  Among  the  old  Greeks  there 
was  a  law  that  made  it  imperative  for  the  voter  to 
take  sides:  he  was  expected  to  give  both  sides  full 
consideration,  but  he  was  compelled  to  decide  for 
one  or  the  other  at  last.  Our  advice  here  is  to  apply 
in  a  practical  way  the  law  of  the  excluded  middle. 
Put  yourself  in  the  place  of  a  juryman:  he  must 
make  the  prisoner  out  to  be  either  guilty  or  not 
guilty.  No  doubt  if  he  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  a 
Scotsman  and  at  home  the  juryman  has  a  loophole. 
He  may  bring  in  a  verdict  of  Not  Proven.  But 
this  loophole  is  only  the  result  of  Scots  caution,  and 
Scots  love  of  logic.  The  Scotsmen  know  that  the 
prisoner  is  either  guilty  or  not  guilty,  but  they  don't 
know  which.  In  certain  cases  they  do  know  that 
the  charge  against  him  has  not  been  proved  satis- 
factorily, so  they  give  the  prisoner  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt.  Wherever  anybody  else's  interest  is  involved 
it  is  an  excellent  plan  to  adopt  the  Scots  subterfuge. 
[259] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

But  where  it  is  a  matter  of  intellectual  decision, 
have  the  courage  to  determine  one  way  or  the  other. 
It  is  an  excellent  tonic  to  have  to  make  up  your  mind 
definitely :  it  gives  all  the  arguments  a  certain  sharp- 
ness when  a  point  is  reached  at  which  they  are  to 
produce  a  definite  decision.  So  long  as  you  are  not 
dealing  with  other  people's  money,  rights  or  feel- 
ings, you  must  be  prepared  to  risk  a  little  by  coming 
to  a  conclusion.  You  may  be  wrong,  no  doubt,  but 
a  wrong  conclusion  honestly  reached  after  careful 
inquiry  is  better  than  a  wobbly  halting  between  two 
opinions.  Let  your  dialectic  essay  then  finish  with 
a  summing  up  and  a  verdict.  There  is  no  harm  in 
keeping  an  open  mind  so  far  as  future  evidence  may 
be  concerned,  but  at  the  end  of  your  essay  you 
ought  to  have  the  courage  of  your  conviction. 

Very  often,  however,  the  so-called  research 
method  leads  to  a  mechanical  result.  The  problem 
is  stated  in  the  form  of  a  question,  and  the  working 
out  is  largely  a  matter  of  statistics.  Suppose,  for 
example,  the  problem  is  set  Whether  does  the 
American  boy  or  the  German  boy  spend  more  time 
in  school  during  the  year?  As  a  matter  of  fact  we 
all  know  perfectly  well,  before  we  start  our  investi- 
gation, that  the  German  boy  will  come  out  ahead. 
Still,  when  a  research  has  been  instituted,  and  by  a 
comparison  of  time-tables  and  school  schedules  it  is 
found  that  the  American  boy  spends  from  900  to 
1,000  hours  in  school  each  year,  as  against  the 
German's  1,400  hours,  and  185  to  200  school  days 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

as  against  the  German's  270  school  days,1  we  feel 
that  we  have  made  an  advance. 

Research,  however,  should  risk  a  little  more  than 
this.  It  should  include  not  only  the  collection  of 
statistics,  but  the  discovery  of  the  meaning  under- 
lying the  statistics.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  you 
have  an  essay  prescribed  to  you  on  The  Influence  of 
School  on  Men  who  attain  Distinction.  You  could, 
no  doubt,  make  up  your  mind  on  the  subject,  and 
give  a  few  examples  that  you  happen  to  remember, 
so  as  to  back  up  what  you  say.  But  here  you  have 
an  excellent  opportunity  for  a  little  bit  of  research. 
First  of  all  you  will  look  up  all  the  books  you  happen 
to  have  of  your  own,  dealing  with  the  biographies  of 
men  of  distinction.  You  will  not  re-read  them,  but 
merely  glance  at  the  introductory  part  in  each  case, 
to  see  what  reference  is  made  to  their  schools.  After 
noting  the  results,  you  will  next  go  to  whatever 
reference  library  you  have  access  to  and  consult 
many  more  books  in  this  desultory  way.  Probably 
this  will  be  all  that  you  are  able  to  do  if  the  essay  is 
an  ordinary  part  of  your  work.  You  cannot  afford 
more  time.  The  results  of  even  this  small  research 
will  probably  rather  disquiet  you,  for  you  will  likely 
find  much  less  about  the  schools  than  you  had  ex- 
pected. The  effect  of  this  should  be  to  make  you 
cautious  in  laying  too  much  stress  upon  the  influence 
of  the  school,  for  absence  of  evidence  may  in  itself 
indicate  a  fact  that  you  had  not  anticipated. 

^Educational  Re-view  (American),  April,  1914,  p.  428. 
[261] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

If  now  you  had  time  and  wanted  to  make  a 
genuine  research,  you  might  arrange  with  some  of 
your  class-mates  to  go  through  a  systematic  search 
of  the  lives  of  great  men.  This  could  be  done  com- 
paratively easily,  since  there  is  an  important  work, 
The  Dictionary  of  National  Biography  that  runs 
to  twenty-two1  volumes  and  contains  over  30,000 
biographies.  If  you  and  your  friends  divided  up 
the  volumes,  you  could  arrange  that  each  should  be 
responsible  for  one  volume.  All  that  would  be  neces- 
sary is  to  examine  the  beginning  of  each  of  the 
biographies  and  note  all  those  cases  in  which  there 
is  a  direct  reference  to  the  school,  noting  further 
whether  the  reference  is  favourable  to  the  school  or 
not.  In  this  way  you  would  find  the  number  of 
cases  in  which  there  is  no  reference  to  school  at  all, 
and  the  number  in  which  there  is  such  a  reference  as 
shows  that  the  school  has  exercised  either  little  in- 
fluence, a  good  influence,  or  an  evil  influence  on  the 
great  men.  Such  an  investigation  has  not  yet  been 
made,  so  there  is  an  opening  to  your  hand  for  a  co- 
operative research,  that  might  lead  to  useful  results. 

At  the  present  time  there  is  a  tendency  to  over- 
rate research  for  its  own  sake.  It  is  quite  possible, 
with  a  good  deal  of  patience,  to  discover  the  exact 
number  of  times  the  letter  e  is  used  in  Hamlet.  This 
is  research :  it  is  also  waste  of  time.  It  is  not  justi- 
fiable even  as  an  exercise,  for  the  same  practice 

1The  original  edition  has  sixty-three  volumes,  with  four 
supplementary  volumes. 

[262] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

could  have  been  obtained  in  carrying  out  a  research 
that,  even  if  it  does  not  reveal  anything  new,  at 
least  confirms  what  is  already  known,  and  makes  the 
researcher  realize  what  he  knew  before  only  in  a 
vague  way,  and  on  the  evidence  of  others.  We  all 
know  in  a  general  way  that  Milton  uses  a  higher 
percentage  of  Latinized  words  than  does  Defoe.  But 
if  we  take  the  trouble  to  select  two  thousand  words 
consecutively  from  any  part  of  the  Areopagitica,  and 
two  thousand  words  consecutively  from  any  part  of 
Robinson  Crusoe,  and  classify  the  words  as  (i) 
Latinized,  (2)  Saxon,  and  (3)  those  neither  Latin 
nor  Saxon  in  origin,  we  get  a  quantitative  result 
from  which  we  can  say  with  greater  exactness  how 
the  two  vocabularies  stand  to  one  another.  Results 
of  this  kind  very  often  surprise  the  investigators: 
nearly  always  they  suggest  facts  that  had  not  before 
been  suspected. 

A  particularly  useful  exercise  at  the  early  stages 
of  your  practice  in  research  is  the  verification  or 
testing  of  results  obtained  by  others.  The  advan- 
tage of  this  exercise  is  that  you  have  a  sort  of 
standard  by  which  to  judge  whether  you  are  keeping 
fairly  near  the  truth.  If  your  results  are  widely 
different  from  those  of  your  predecessor,  you  have 
the  alluring  hunt  for  the  big  error  you  have  made, 
with,  of  course,  just  the  delightful  possibility  that 
the  error  was  made  by  the  other  fellow. 


[363] 


CHAPTER  X 


EXAMINATIONS 

IN  the  first  chapter  of  the  second  book  of  Dickens' 
Our  Mutual  Friend   we  have   the    following 
account   of   an    elementary    schoolmaster,    Bradley 
Headstone  by  name: 

"From  his  early  childhood  up,  his  mind  had  been  a  place 
of  mechanical  stowage.  The  arrangement  of  his  wholesale 
warehouse,  so  that  it  might  be  always  ready  to  meet  the 
demands  of  retail  dealers — history  here,  geography  there, 
astronomy  to  the  right,  political  economy  to  the  left — natural 
history,  the  physical  sciences,  figures,  music,  the  lower  mathe- 
matics, and  what  not,  all  in  their  several  places — this  care 
had  imparted  to  his  countenance  a  look  of  care;  while  the 
habit  of  questioning  and  being  questioned  had  given  him  a 
suspicious  manner,  a  manner  that  would  be  better  described 
as  one  of  lying  in  wait.  There  was  a  kind  of  settled  trouble 
in  the  face.  It  was  the  face  belonging  to  a  naturally  slow  or 
inattentive  intellect  that  had  toiled  hard  to  get  what  it  had 
won,  and  that  had  to  hold  it  now  that  it  was  gotten.  He 
always  seemed  to  be  uneasy  lest  anything  should  be  missing 
from  his  mental  warehouse,  and  taking  stock  to  assure 
himself." 

Here  we  have  a  scornful  account  of  the  state  of  mind 
[264] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

produced  by  an  excessive  attention  to  examinations. 
But  we  are  not  to  be  misled  by  Dickens'  contempt 
into  thinking  that  examinations  are  necessarily  bad. 
It  is,  no  doubt,  wrong  to  adopt  the  view  that  the 
mind  is  a  mere  storehouse  and  that  knowledge  is 
to  be  regarded  as  nothing  more  than  the  stock  of  a 
retail  or  even  a  wholesale  shopkeeper.  But  it  is  quite 
a  sensible  thing  to  take  stock  now  and  then  of  our 
mental  content,  not  only  to  see  that  there  is  nothing 
missing,  but  to  make  sure  that  what  is  present  is 
arranged  in  the  most  satisfactory  way.  We  have 
seen  that  the  best  way  to  remember  things  is  to  keep 
turning  them  over  in  our  mind,  and  reviewing  them 
in  their  proper  relations  to  each  other.  This  is 
obviously  a  form  of  examination  conducted  by  our- 
selves. It  is  really  a  part  of  our  education,  and  a 
very  important  part. 

The  same  sort  of  work  can  be  done  for  us  in  our 
regular  studies  by  more  or  less  formal  examinations 
conducted  by  others.  We  are  too  apt  to  regard 
examinations  merely  as  tests.  No  doubt  this  is  often 
the  function  that  is  emphasized  by  all  concerned  with 
them.  But  we  are  not  to  forget  that  they  have  also 
an  educational  function.  They  form  an  essential 
part  of  our  education,  and  if  properly  used  are  very 
helpful  in  our  studies.  If  you  have  ever  gone  in  for 
a  serious  examination  involving  a  considerable 
amount  of  preparation,  you  have,  no  doubt,  had  an 
experience  something  like  this.  Just  about  three 
weeks  before  the  examination  is  due,  you  have  had 

[  265  j 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

the  curious  feeling  that  you  are  beginning  really  to 
know  the  subject,  and  if  only  you  had  other  three 
months  instead  of  three  weeks  you  could  truly  master 
it.  The  cause  of  this  feeling  is  that  towards  the 
end  of  your  long  preparation  you  are  revising  a 
good  deal  of  the  work  you  have  previously  done. 
Accordingly,  you  are  dealing  with  much  larger  slices 
of  the  subject  at  a  time  than  you  .have  been  accus- 
tomed to  during  your  ordinary  preparation.  The 
result  is  that  you  have  perforce  to  ta^e  wider  views, 
you  see  things  more  in  their  .relation  to  the  whole, 
you  begin  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the  meaning  under- 
lying that  whole.  As  you  thus  begin  to  appreciate 
the  general  principles  underlying  the  detailed  knowl- 
edge you  have  acquired,  you  inevitably  tend  to 
organize  your  knowledge  and  thus  to  experience  a 
feeling  of  mastery  that  mere  details  cannot  give. 

Preparing  to  work  an  examination  paper  to  be 
set  by  another  person  is  itself  a  sort  of  examination 
of  ourselves  conducted  by  ourselves.  The  advantage 
of  having  a  paper  set  by  some  one  else  is  that  we 
have  to  take  into  account  the  possibilities  of  questions 
being  set  quite  other  than  those  we  have  been  setting 
to  ourselves.  We  are  all  apt  to  get  into  a  groove: 
we  deal  with  aspects  of  our  studies  in  which  we  are 
specially  interested.  But  when  we  know  that  our 
work  has  to  stand  the  test  of  questions  set  by  a 
person  who  may  not  share  our  view  about  the  inter- 
esting points,  we  have  to  take  a  wider  sweep,  and 
try  to  get  a  true  estimate  of  the  relative  importance 
[266] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

of  facts,  apart  altogether  from  our  own  particular 
preferences. 

When  examinations  are  regarded  as  tests,  they 
follow  two  lines.  Some  of  the  questions  are  intended 
to  test  merely  whether  the  student  knows  certain 
things.  Here  the  point  is  whether  the  student  can 
reproduce  what  he  has  learnt.  This  is  the  lower 
kind  of  examination,  and  does  not  rise  above  the 
level  of  Bradley  Headstone's  mechanical  stowage, 
and  mental  stocktaking.  Other  questions,  however, 
are  set  on  the  principle  of  getting  the  pupil  to  apply 
the  knowledge  he  has  acquired.  The  student  may 
know  all  the  facts  necessary  to  solve  a  given  problem 
and  yet  be  unable  to  solve  it.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
he  can  solve  the  problem,  he  has  given  proof  that  he 
knows  the  facts  on  which  the  solution  depends.  It 
would  seem,  therefore,  that  all  examination  questions 
should  be  such  as  involve  problems,  for  if  the  pupil 
can  apply  knowledge,  it  proves  that  he  possesses 
knowledge. 

But  it  is  felt  that  certain  pupils  may  have  acquired 
knowledge  without  having  the  ability  to  apply  it, 
and  that,  therefore,  there  ought  to  be  a  certain 
number  of  questions  in  every  examination  paper  for 
the  benefit  of  those  who  have  honestly  acquired 
knowledge  that  they  cannot  successfully  apply.  It 
is  maintained  that  the  examination  may  be  used  to 
test  the  industry  of  the  candidate  as  well  as  his 
ability.  It  may  be  very  reasonably  questioned 
whether  any  good  end  can  be  served  by  acquiring 
[267] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

knowledge  that  we  confessedly  cannot  use,  but  this 
problem  has  to  be  solved  by  those  who  are  respon- 
sible for  the  drawing  up  of  examination  papers. 
Our  interest  in  this  book  is  how  to  help  the  student 
to  deal  most  advantageously  with  examinations  as 
they  are.  It  is  almost  certain  that  at  some  time  or 
other  you  will  have  to  face  an  examination  of  some 
kind,  and  it  is  therefore  to  your  interest  to  consider 
how  you  can  best  prepare  for  that  examination. 

(i)  The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  find  out  as 
much  as  you  can  about  the  exact  nature  of  the  par- 
ticular examination  that  you  must  face.  From  one 
point  of  view  it  is  rather  a  fine  thing  to  despise 
examinations  and  give  your  whole  attention  to  your 
studies.  If  we  work  up  our  various  subjects  in  the 
best  way,  we  are  entitled  to  expect  that  the  examina- 
tion will  fit  into  what  we  have  done,  and  to  com- 
plain if  the  examination  results  do  not  favour  those 
who  have  studied  in  the  best  way.  All  this  would 
be  just  and  proper  if  examinations  were  ideal.  But 
unfortunately  this  is  not  the  case,  and  if  the  passing 
of  an  examination  is  of  importance  to  you,  it  will 
be  to  your  interest  to  take  the  proper  means  to 
acquaint  yourself  with  its  conditions.  To  prepare 
for  an  examination  that  is  not  conducted  on  the  best 
lines  may  in  some  degree  interfere  with  your  mode 
of  preparation,  and  may  make  you  to  some  extent 
depart  from  your  ideals.  But  as  a  rule  skilful 
preparation  for  a  given  examination  may  be  com- 
bined with  a  satisfactory  scheme  of  mastering  the 
[268] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

subjects  studied.  A  good  deal  will  depend  upon 
whether  the  examination  is  competitive  or  merely  a 
pass  one.  If  you  have  only  to  reach  a  fair  pass 
standard  you  will  usually  find  that  you  can  attain 
what  you  want  -without  seriously  modifying  your 
plan -of  study.  Such  examinations  can  be  "taken  in 
your  stride" ;  i.  e.,  you  can  go  on  with  your  studies 
in  your  usual  way  and  just  give  a  little  brush  up 
before  the  examination  actually  takes  place.  With 
competitive  examinations,  on  the  other  hand,  when 
it  is  necessary  to  squeeze  out  of  the  examiners  every 
possible  mark,  it  may  well  be  that  you  have  to  adopt 
quite  a  special  -line  of  study  preparing  for  the  ex- 
amination, rather  than  studying  your  subjects  for 
their  own  sakes. 

This  putting  of  the  examination  in  the  first  place 
is  in  itself  radically  bad.  The  examination  should 
be  a  means  and  not  an  end.  If,  in  the  ordinary  work 
of  a  school,  the  examination  at  the  end  of  the -year 
dominates  all  the  work  of  the  year,  there  is  something 
wrong.  The  cart  is  being  put  before  the  horse.  The 
principle  is  educationally -unsound.  But  in  the  case 
of  a  competitive  examination,  the  result  of  which  is 
to  determine  a  scholarship  or  a  post  in  the  Civil 
Service  or  elsewhere,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  education 
at  all,  it  is  a  matter  of  economics. 

But  even  an  ordinary  pass  examination  at  the 

end  of  a  school  or  college  term  deserves  attention 

to  the  extent  of  your  finding  out  its  exact  nature. 

I  have  come  across  many  cases  of  young  people 

[269] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

doing  a  year's  work,  at  the  end  of  which  they  were 
expected  to  take  the  Intermediate  examination  of 
the  University  of  London,  without  ever  having  ex- 
amined the  requirements  in  the  different  subjects. 
This  did  not  result  from  a  lofty  view  -of  the  dignity 
of  well-directed  study,  and  a  contempt  for  the  re- 
strictions of  mere  examination  requirements,  but 
from  sheer  indifference  and  lack  of  interest.  These 
young  people  did  their  work  from  day  to  day  as 
prescribed  by  their  teachers,  and  thought  that  thte 
was  all  that  was  necessary.  The  first  thing  these 
young  people  should  have  done  was  to  get  a  copy 
of  the  syllabus  in  each  of  their  subjects,  and  famil- 
iarize themselves  with  the  field  they  had  to  cover 
in  their  studies  during  the  year. 

(2)  In  all  cases  where  a  printed  syllabus  of  work 
is  available  it  should  be  compared  with  the  textbooks 
that  you  are  studying.  If  anything  appears  in  the 
syllabus  that  does  not  appear  in  the  contents  or  index 
of  your  textbook,  you  must  make  it  your  business 
to  supply  the  missing  information.  This  is  particu- 
larly necessary  in  the  case  of  technical  terms.  If 
you  are  attending  a  class  in  the  subject,  it  will  prob- 
ably be  enough  if  you  make  a  note  of  any  such 
omissions,  and  then  keep  a  careful  eye  upon  this  note 
during  the  session.  If  the  lacking  piece  of  informa- 
tion does  not  make  its  appearance  in  your  notes  of 
lectures,  then  it  will  be  necessary  to  make  inquiry 
from  your  teacher,  within  a  reasonable  time  of  the 
date  of  the  examination. 

[270] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

(3)  In  some  cases,  particularly  in  scholarship 
examinations  and  some  of  the  higher  civil  service 
examinations,  there  is  no  published  syllabus.  The 
candidate  is  faced  with  the  bald  statement  that  he 
will  be  examined  in,  say,  English,  Greek,  Latin, 
Mathematics,  and  Physics.  In  such  cases  it  is  usually 
possible  to  procure  copies  of  former  examination 
papers.  If  you  can  get  hold  of  the  papers  for  a  few 
years  preceding  the  date  of  your  own  examination 
you  will  be  able  to  form  a  serviceable  idea  of  the 
nature  and  scope  of  the  examination.  But  there  is 
a  strong,  and  not  altogether  ill  founded,  prejudice 
against  using  old  examination  papers  in  preparation. 
The  usual  objection  is  that  those  who  adopt  this 
method  are  really  placing  the  examination  in  an 
altogether  too  commanding  a  position  in  relation  to 
the  real  work  of  education.  But  here  again  the 
same  considerations  come  in  as  in  connexion  with  the 
question  of  examinations  in  general.  If  we  were 
dealing  with  a  class  test  or  an  ordinary  non-competi- 
tive examination,  there  is  no  doubt  that  a  study  of 
the  old  papers  would  be  undesirable.  But  where 
there  is  competition  there  should  be  equality  of 
advantages.  Of  two  candidates  preparing  for  the 
same  examination,  the  one  who  has  used  old  papers 
has  a.very  great  advantage  over  the  one  who  has  not. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  in  connexion  with  certain 
examinations  every  effort  is  made  to  prevent  the 
publication  or  distribution  of  the  examination  papers. 
But  the  result  is  usually  that  certain  unscrupulous 
[271] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

persons  obtain  old  papers,  and  thus  get  an  illegiti- 
mate advantage.  It  would  be  fairer  all  round  to 
publish  the  papers  and  let  everybody  have  the  same 
chance. 

Granting  that  the  use  of  old  papers  is  justifiable, 
the  question  remains  of  how  to  make  the  best  of 
them.  Students  sometimes  make  the  serious  mistake 
of  merely  glancing  over  old  papers  and  saying  to 
themselves,  "Well,  I  could  do  numbers  2,  3,  5,  6,  9 
easily,  numbers  i,  7  and  10  fairly  well,  but  numbers 
4  and  8  I  couldn't  do  at  all."  This  general  impres- 
sion is  of  little  use.  What  is  wanted  is  that  you 
should  sit  down  and  work  out  the  paper  as  a  whole 
under  examination  conditions.  This  means  that  you 
must  set  apart  three  hours,  or  whatever  the  regular 
time  is,  and  sit  down  and  work  out  the  paper  as  if 
the  examiner  were  in  your  room.  In  this  way  you 
will  learn  a  great  deal.  To  begin  with,  you  will 
almost  certainly  find  that  the  questions  you  thought 
you  could  easily  "polish  off"  have  much  more  fight 
in  them  than  you  had  expected.  Then  you  will 
probably  find  that  you  have  miscalculated  the  time, 
and  at  the  end  you  have  to  hurry  over  matters  that 
you  know  to  be  important.  The  real  fact  of  the 
matter  is  that  while  working  examination  papers  is 
supposed  to  test  general  intelligence,  it  really  tests 
mainly  the  power  to  write -examination  papers.  To 
do  examinations  is  a  business  like  any  other,  and  has 
to  be  learned.  An  experienced  writer  of  examina- 
tion answers  will  get  far  more  value  out  of  the  ex- 
[272] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

aminers  than  one  who  has  no  experience  of  working 
papers  but  has  the  same  amount  of  knowledge  of 
the  subject  as  his  more  experienced  rival.  The  im- 
portant point  for  you  to  remember  is  that  of  two 
candidates  of  equal  experience  in  writing  examina- 
tion papers  that  one  will  have  the  advantage  whose 
experience  has  been  gained  in  papers  that  most 
closely  resemble  the  paper  in  question.  Enough  has 
been  said  to  show  the  importance  of  practising  work- 
ing out  the  very  sort  of  papers  likely  to  be  set,  and 
that  under  precisely  the  conditions  that  will  obtain 
at  the  real  examination. 

(4)  More  doubtful  is  the  advice  sometimes  given 
to  make  a  study  of  the  personality  of  the  examiner. 
The  doubt,  it  is  to  be  noted,  is  on  the  moral  side. 
There  can  be  no  question  of  the  advantage  of  a 
knowledge  of  the  peculiarities  of  an  examiner  who 
is  to  set  and  mark  your  papers.     The  question  is 
whether  it  is  justifiable  that  candidates  should  seek 
for  and  utilize  this  information.  Probably  the  matter 
can  be  best  compromised  by  regarding  as  legitimate 
the  use  of  any  public  facts  about  the  examiner.     A 
glance  at  Who's  Who  may  give  you  a  hint  or  two 
that  are  open  to  the  whole  public.    If  he  has  written 
books  on  the  subject,  it  is  surely  legitimate  to  con- 
sult them,  and  make  whatever  application  your  in- 
telligence suggests. 

(5)  The  zone  of  real  danger  is  approached  when 
we  consider  the  calculation  of  the  probabilities  of 
particular  questions  being  set  at  a  given  examination. 

[273] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

Here  we  are  introducing  the  sporting  element,  and 
backing  our  guesses  by  paying  particular  attention 
to  the  sort  of  questions  that  we  expect  to  be 'set  this 
year.  Certain  cramming  institutions  have  carefully 
prepared  tables  showing  the  chances  of  particular 
questions  being  set  at  certain  examinations.  The 
element  of  the  real  importance  of  a  question  is 
dwarfed  in  view  of  the  recency  of  its  appearance  on 
an  examination  paper.  It  may  be  safely  said  that 
all  considerations  of  this  kind  may  be  very  wisely 
neglected  by  the  honest  student.  He  should  be  always 
ready  for  any  of  the  "stock"  questions  that  may  be 
set,  whether  they  appeared  last  year  or  ten  years 
ago.  To  be  really  prepared  for  the  examination 
implies  the  power  of  dealing  with  any  of  the  stock 
questions,  and  for  any  peculiar  question  it  is  neither 
possible  nor  desirable  to  make  preparation.  Such 
questions  owe  their  value  to  their  power  of  testing 
the  capacity  of  the  student  in  dealing  with  unex- 
pected matter. 

(6)  In  the  actual  working  out  of  an  examination 
paper  in  the  examination  hall  some  hints  may  be 
of  use.  To  an  experienced  examinee  what  follows 
will  no  doubt  appear  very  elementary,  but  we  must 
consider  the  case  of  the  less  experienced.  Taking 
it  for  granted  that  the  immediate  purpose  of  the 
examinee  is  to  extract  from  the  examiner  the 
greatest  possible  number  of  marks,  we  have  to  work 
on  the  very  humble  plane  of  utility,  and  consider 
how  this  end  can  be  best  attained. 
[274] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

(a)  Come  to  an  examination  with  a  well-rested 
body  and  brain.  This  is  a  rule  that  the  best  students 
find  it  hardest  to  observe.  There  is  a  class  of 
students  that  have  no  difficulty  in  avoiding  the  add- 
ling of  brains  that  necessarily  follows  on  the  late 
sitting  of  the  night  before  an  examination.  But 
your  genuinely  anxious  student  can  hardly  be  con- 
vinced that  it  is  folly  to  cram  up  a  few  more  facts 
at  the  expense  of  the  general  vigour  of  all  his 
answers.  Do  not  be  misled  by  the  remark  common 
among  students  that  if  they  had  not  ground  away 
far  into  the  early  hours  they  would  not  have  been 
able  to  answer  this  or  that  question.  No  doubt  it 
sometimes  happens  that  a  student  has  re-read  at  his 
late  sitting  the  answers  to  some  of  the  very  ques- 
tions that  meet  him  next  morning.  To  begin  with, 
this  is  only  a  chance,  and  cannot  be  relied  on :  while 
the  general  muddleheadedness  and  lassitude  are 
certainties.  Again,  while  the  chance  help  affects  only 
one,  or  at  most  two,  of  the  questions,  the  general 
weariness  affects  the  whole  paper.  You  will  be  well 
advised  to  go  to  bed  early  on  the  evening  preceding 
an  examination  and  to  be  in  the  examination  hall 
at  least  ten  minutes  ahead  of  the  time  for  the  paper. 

(ft)  Consider,  the  evening  before,  what  you  have 
to  take  with  you  to  the  examination,  hall.  In  some 
examinations  everything  is  provided  in  the  hall.  But 
even  if  ink  is  provided  you  will  be  well  advised  to 
take  your  own  pen  with  you.  A  pencil  is  always 
convenient,  and  if  you  have  practical  work  of  any 
[275] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

kind  to  do  it  is  well  to  have  with  you  whatever  in- 
struments you  are  allowed  to  bring.  It  frequently 
happens  that  one's  own  instrument  adds  materially 
to  one's  courage  at  an  examination.  One  article 
should  never  be  left  behind.  The  clock  in  the  ex- 
amination hall  is  not  always  visible  to  all  the  candi- 
dates. Besides,  it  is  sometimes  wrong.  You  must 
run  no  risk  of  finding  out  at  the  end  of  the  time 
that  when  you  thought  you  had  half  an  hour  you 
have  only  a  quarter.  A  watch — a  watch  that  will 
go — is  an  essential  part  of  your  examination-room 
equipment. 

(c)  Read  your  whole  paper  and  note  whether  it  is 
printed  on  both  sides.  Few  candidates  read  their 
papers  with  anything  like  the  care  that  those  papers 
deserve.  Frequently  they  come  away  happy,  only 
to  discover  when  the  paper  is  beyond  recall  that  it 
contained  some  important  remarks  on  the  other  side. 
The  cause  of  the  common  blunder  is  not  far  to  seek. 
Questions  are  long  and  time  is  fleeting.  Time  must 
be  saved  at  all  costs,  and  the  foolish  candidates  begin 
to  economize  at  the  wrong  end.  Let  them  consider 
the  remark  of  a  distinguished  surgeon  to  his  assist- 
ant who  was  eager  to  lose  no  time :  "In  cases  of  this 
kind  the  surgeon  has  no  time  to  be  in  a  hurry." 

Connected  with  this  rule  is  the  problem  whether 
a  candidate  should  read  all  the  paper  at  once  before 
beginning  to  answer  any  questions,  or  should  start 
right  away  with  the  first  question  .he  can  face.  It  is 
sometimes  argued  that  by  reading  over  the  whole 
[276] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

paper  the  candidate  gets  discouraged,  and  cannot  do 
well  even  what  he  knows,  through  the  shock  of  dis- 
covering how  much  he  does  not  know.  While  it 
must  be  admitted  that  for  the  ordinary  student  there 
are  few  more  depressing  documents  than  sheets  of 
examination  questions,  it  seems  an  ostrich-like  way 
of  meeting  the  difficulty  to  avoid  seeing  it  as  long  as 
possible.  Every  experienced  examinee  will  tell  you 
that  at  the  beginning  of  an  examination  the  nerves 
are  hardly  in  a  condition  to  carry  out  the  orders  of 
the  brain,  even  when  the  brain  knows  precisely  what 
to  order.  The  time  spent  in  studying  the  paper  as 
a  whole  encourages  the  nerves  to  settle  down  to 
steady  work.  Besides,  everyone  with  any  experience 
knows  that  the  first  sight  of  the  examination  paper 
almost  always  has  a  paralysing  effect  that  produces 
the  feeling  that  the  paper  is  an  impossible  one,  and 
that  failure  is  staring  the  reader  in  the  face.  The 
time  spent  in  considering  the  paper  as  a  whole  gives 
this  feeling  leisure  to  fade,  for  there  are  few  papers 
that  do  not  present  some  foothold  for  even  incom- 
petent candidates.  The  final  reason  for  reading  over 
the  whole  before  putting  pen  to  paper  is  that  our 
next  rule  becomes  an  impossibility  unless  this  be 
done. 

(d}  Plan  out  generally  the  time  that  you  can  allow 
for  each  of  the  questions  that  you  propose  to  answer. 
There  must  be  nothing  slavish  in  this.  Eight  ques- 
tions in  a  two-hour  paper  give  a  comfortable  quarter 
of  an  hour  for  each,  with  no  time  for  revision;  but 
[277] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

it  is  always  well  to  leave  a  few  minutes  free  for  re- 
reading your  answers  just  before  you  hand  in  your 
paper. 

In  a  three-hour  paper  there  would  be  twenty 
minutes  to  each  question  with  twenty  minutes  over 
for  revision.  But  if  one  of  the  questions  demands 
an  elaborate  analysis  of  a  standard  English  Classic, 
while  another  will  be  content  with  the  enumeration 
of  a  dozen  English  authors,  a  new  element  is  intro- 
duced. But  even  after  you  have  made  a  rough  and 
rapid  allocation  of  time  to  the  different  questions, 
you  must  not  be  too  much  tied  down  by  it.  On 
trial  a  certain  question  may  prove  to  be  more  difficult 
than  you  thought.  In  this  case  you  had  better  leave 
it  unfinished,  and  go  on  to  the  next,  leaving  a  space 
sufficient  to  hold  the  rest  of  the  answer  if  your  hope 
is  fulfilled  that  there  may  be  one  of  the  other  ques- 
tions that  balances  matters  by  proving  not  so  difficult 
as  you  had  imagined. 

But  even  if  you  do  not  find  it  possible  to  return 
to  the  unfinished  answer,  you  have  acted  not  un- 
wisely in  leaving  it.  For  I  am  now  going  to  say  a 
rather  heterodox  thing.  All  our  moral  books  din 
into  our  ears  that  one  thing  at  a  time  and  that  well 
done  is  the  true  rule  of  life  and  the  only  pathway  to 
success.  I  am  not  going  to  deny  its  truth  in  general 
— but  in  examinations  it  does  not  work.  Leaving 
out  of  account  the  moral  question,  and  considering 
merely  the  best  way  of  extracting  the  greatest  pos- 
sible number  of  marks  out  of  the  examiner,  it  will 
[278] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

be  found  that  in  an  examination  two  half-answers 
are  better  than  one  whole  one.  There  is  an  element 
of  wisdom  in  the  Irishwoman's  method  of  buying 
•her  pound  of  tea  by  ounces,  because  she  got  "the 
turn  of  the  scale  every  time." 

To  begin  with,  it  has  to  be  remembered  that  an 
examiner — except  in  the  case  of  arithmetic  and  one 
or  two  of  the  exact  quantitative 'sciences,  where  the 
principle  does  not  hold — almost  never  gives  the  full 
marks  for  any  answer,  however  well  done;  while  a 
half-answer  readily,  and  apparently  justly,  gets  half- 
marks.  If  a  candidate  makes  some  correct  remarks 
on  a  subject  the  examiner  feels  called  upon  to  give 
some  credit  for  them,  and  that  credit  is  usually  much 
greater  than  would  be  given  for  the  same  amount  of 
time  spent  on  elaborating  a  fair  answer  into  an  ex- 
cellent one.  For  every  candidate  must  have  observed 
that  the  beginning  of  an  answer  is  usually  much 
easier  than  the  ending.  You  remember  easily  the 
big  important  facts,  and  these  rightly  carry  the  bulk 
of  the  marks;  but  to  put  in  all  the  fine  details  de- 
mands more  knowledge,  time  and  ingenuity  than  are 
always  available.  You  can  pour  out  a  pot  of  honey 
in  a  few  minutes  or  even  seconds,  but  if  the  pot 
must  be  completely  emptied  in  order  to  secure  full 
payment,  it  seems  likely  that  the  additional  time 
might  be  more  profitably  spent.  Therefore  make 
sure  that  you  leave  no  compulsory  question  unat- 
tempted,  even  though  you  do  not  feel  able  to  give  a 
full  and  accurate  answer. 

[279] 


Making    the    Most    of   One  s    Mind 

It  may  be  well  to  add  that  these  considerations 
are  applicable  mainly  to  public  examinations  con- 
ducted on  a  large  scale  by  external  bodies.  In  class 
examinations  and  in  examinations  intended  to  test 
ability  rather  than  mere  attainment  other  standards 
maintain.  One  really  excellent  answer  may  be  ac- 
cepted by  the  examiner  as  counterbalancing  any 
number  of  half  worked  out  but  fairly  accurate 
answers.  You  must  therefore  take  into  account  the 
kind  of  examination  at  which  you  are  sitting,  and 
make  up  your  mind  beforehand  whether  you  are 
going  to  rely  upon  a  thin  spread  of  knowledge,  or 
a  concentration  on  what  you  really  know  well,  and  a 
neglect  of  the  rest. 

(tf)  //  there  be  a  choice  of  questions,  select  those 
of  which  you  are  quite  sure  you  know  the  answers. 
This  is  another  rule  that  candidates  find  it  very 
hard  to  obey.  You  may  even  accuse  me  of  incon- 
sistency in  laying  it  down.  You  may  say  that  it 
does  not  agree  with  the  rule  in  (d).  For  I  am  now 
saying  that  a  perfectly  answered  question  brings 
more  marks  than  one  imperfectly  answered.  But  the 
cases  are  not  parallel.  You  may  have  observed  in 
your  experience  that  when  you  are  not  sure  about 
a  question  it  almost  invariably  turns  out  that  you 
do  not  know  what  you  were  doubtful  about.  An 
answer  of  which  you  are  not  sure  generally  contains 
things  you  would  rather  have  left  unsaid,  and  it  is 
precisely  such  remarks  that  reduce  percentages  of 
marks.  Certain  mistakes  have  the  effect  of  not  only 
[280] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

not  making  marks,  but  of  causing  the  withdrawal 
of  marks  legitimately  won  in  other  directions.  When 
an  answer  is  one-half  right  and  the  other  half  non- 
sense, the  examiner  is  inclined  to  say  to  himself: 
"The  blockhead  who  can  make  such  blunders  in 
one  part  of  his  answer,  probably  does  not  under- 
stand even  what  he  has  happened  to  put  down  cor- 
rectly." So  that  it  often  comes  out  that  half  right 
and  half  wrong  does  not  get  fifty  per  cent,  but  only 
twenty-five.  This  may  not  be  quite  fair,  still  we 
are  not  here  talking  of  fairness,  but  of  how  to  gain 
marks,  and  the  best  way  to  gain  marks  is  to  choose 
the  questions  that  we  are  sure  of. 

Further,  it  is  worth  your  while  to  consider  this 
point  that  the  more  difficult  you  find  a  question  the 
more  important  you  are  apt  to  think  it.  What 
seems  easy  to  you  may  be,  from  the  examiner's 
point  of  view,  more  important  than  what  gives  you 
trouble.  In  certain  examinations  the  number  of 
marks  allocated  to  each  question  is  printed  at  the 
side.  In  such  cases  there  is  commonly  much  sur- 
prise among  the  candidates  at  the  high  marks  given 
to  certain  questions  that  appear  to  them  to  be  easier 
than  certain  others  that  carry  much  lower  marks. 
This  should  strengthen  you  in  your  determination 
to  select  those  questions  that  appear  to  you  to  be 
most  within  your  powers. 

(/)  Every  question  has  a  definite  point.  This  point 
must  be  discovered  before  any  answer  can  be  profit- 
ably attempted.  No  doubt  questions  are  frequently 
[281] 


Making    the    Most    of    Ones    Mind 

put  clumsily  and  ambiguously.  They  may  not  really 
have  a  point,  but  they  are  all  meant  to  have  one,  and 
it  is  the  candidate's  business  to  find  it.  This  is  not 
the  place  to  grumble  at  badly  set  questions.  Our 
business  is  rather  to  consider  how  to  deal  properly 
with  such  inconveniences.  If  a  question  is  really 
ambiguous  you  must  choose  one  of  the  two  meanings, 
and  answer  as  if  that  were  the  only  meaning.  But 
be  careful  to  state  the  difficulty  you  have  had  and 
that  you  have  made  the  assumption  that  the  meaning 
you  have  adopted  is  the  true  one.  It  is  worth  re- 
membering that  if  the  examiner  has  been  ambiguous 
he  is  inclined  to  make  allowances,  so  you  need  have 
no  hesitation  in  adopting  whichever  of  the  two  mean- 
ings happens  to  be  the  more  convenient  for  you  to 
answer. 

But  with  an  ordinary  honest  straightforward 
question  this  plan  of  adapting  it  to  your  own  needs 
will  not  work.  No  one  but  an  experienced  examiner 
can  realize  the  number  of  cases  in  which  candidates 
attempt  to  cover  up  their  ignorance  on  one  point  by 
an  excessive  display  of  knowledge  on  another.  Now 
you  may  take  it  as  axiomatic  that  this  plan  does 
not  work.  Even  examiners  have  enough  intelligence 
to  insist  upon  getting  what  they  want.  Very  prob- 
ably, however,  much  of  what  the  examiners  com- 
plain about  is  the  result  not  of  attempts  to  throw 
dust  in  their  eyes,  but  of  careless  reading  of  the 
questions.  One  very  common  cause  of  the  mis- 
understanding of  questions  is  the  expectation  that 
[282] 


A   Guide  for  All  Students 

certain  questions  are  likely  to  be  set.  The  candidate 
who  has  prepared  with  great  care  and  in  much  detail 
an  account  of  the  war  of  the  Spanish  Succession, 
sees  the  expected  question  on  the  paper  and  eagerly 
and  voluminously  answers  it,  only  to  discover  when 
all  is  over  that  what  the  question  had  to  do  with 
was  the  Austrian  Succession.  In  a  Government  ex- 
amination for  teachers  a  question  was  set  on  the 
uses  to  which  school  libraries  could  be  put  in  the 
cultivation  of  the  intelligence  and  in  the  teaching  of 
composition.  The  majority  of  the  answers  dealt 
with  the  best  way  of  getting  up  a  school  library 
and  who  should  give  out  the  books.  These  were 
the  matters  the  candidates  expected  to  be  asked 
about. 

(g)  Avoid  "shots"  at  examinations.  We  have 
already  considered  the  place  of  guessing  in  the 
process  of  study,  and  the  principles  we  have  recog- 
nized enable  us  to  come  to  a  definite  recommenda- 
tion with  regard  to  attempting  to  meet  a  question 
by  an  answer  that  may  be  compared  to  a  shot  in 
the  dark.  The  chance  of  hitting  the  mark  is  so 
infinitesimal  as  to  be  negligible,  while  the  result 
will  probably  be  so  ludicrously  irrational  that  it 
is  likely  to  reduce  the  value  of  the  rest  of  the  paper. 
But  if  the  context  suggests  something  to  you,  it 
may  not  be  a  bad  plan  to  make  your  shot.  Suppose 
you  are  asked,  "Where  is  Khvalynsk?"  You  have 
never  heard  of  the  place  before,  but  you  may  fairly 
guess  that  it  is  in  Russia,  and  answer  accordingly. 
[283] 


Making    the    Most    of   Ones    Mind 

The  following  is  a  typically  honest  "shot."  The 
candidate  was  asked  to  explain  the  term  Landskip, 
as  found  in  Milton,  and  to  give  its  derivation. 

"This  appears  to  be  another  form  of  what  we  now  call  a 
landslip,  in  which  the  land,  on  account  of  the  slipperiness  of 
the  stratum  underneath  it,  begins  to  slip  down  the  hill.  If 
it  slips  very  fast  it  may  be  said  to  skip — hence  the  name. 
I  have  never  seen  this  word  before." 

This  candidate  lost  nothing  by  this  ingenious 
guess,  though,  of  course,  he  gained  nothing,  since 
he  did  not  know  that  landscape  is  derived,  accord- 
ing to  one  dictionary  at  anyrate,  from  an  older 
form,  landshape,  though  others  say  it  really  is  an- 
other form  of  landschap,  which  means  landship,  and 
may  be  compared  with  the  German  landschaft. 

Of  course,  it  goes  without  saying  that  you  will 
never  make  a  shot  at  what  you  do  not  know,  if  there 
is  any  choice  of  things  you  do  know;  and  if  you 
do  make  your  shot,  you  will  do  it  with  an  indication 
of  your  data.  It  is  perhaps  in  the  translation  paper 
that  the  temptation  to  make  shots  is  greatest,  and 
yet  there  the  intelligent  student  with  a  feeling  for 
language  has  a  fair  chance  of  success.  The  con- 
text is  often  so  suggestive  that  it  is  not  difficult  to 
hit  upon  the  necessary  word.  In  cases  of  this  kind 
it  is  not  essential  to  declare  that  you  have  made  a 
shot.  The  fact  proclaims  itself,  and  on  the  other 
hand  the  exercise  is  unseen  translation  is  a  sort  of 
legalized  shot-making.  It  is  really  an  invitation  to 
[284] 


A  Guide  for  All  Students 

use  all  the  knowledge  you  possess  in  order  to  dis- 
cover a  meaning  that  is  hidden  by  your  ignorance 
of  certain  words.  If  the  passage  is  taken  from  a 
book  which  we  are  supposed  to  have  prepared,  the 
licence  to  shoot  is  no  longer  available,  and  if  we 
shoot  we  must  proclaim  the  fact  and  take  the  con- 
sequences. 

(A)  Be  sure  that  you  take  full  advantage  of  any 
information  that  the  examination  paper  itself  sup- 
plies. Even  in  such  a  trifling  matter  as  spelling 
there  is  often  help -to  be  had  from  the  printed  paper. 
Candidates  are  sometimes  so  culpably  careless  as 
to  misspell  a  word  that  actually  occurs  in  the  ques- 
tion set.  But  there  are  other  ways  in  which  one 
part  of  the  paper  may  help  another.  For  instance, 
examiners  sometimes  ask  for  illustrations  of  certain 
things,  and  the  student  has  only  to  turn  to  some  of 
the  other  questions  to  find  all  he  needs.  In  a  paper 
on  English,  for  example,  one  question  may  be  to 
give  examples  of  various  figures  of  speech,  and 
another  to  specify  which  author  is  responsible  for 
each  of  quite  a  large  number  of  quotations.  It  will 
be  rather  remarkable  if  the  intelligent  candidate  is 
not  able  to  -find  among  the  quotations  all  the  ex- 
amples he  needs.  A  really  skilful  examiner  makes 
sure  that  his  paper  does  not  play  in  this  way  into 
the  hands  of  the  candidates;  but  then  the  supply  of 
really  skilful  examiners  is  not  in  excess  of  the 
demand. 

(*)  Read  over  each  question  when  you  have  fin- 
[285] 


Making    the    Most    of    One  s    Mind 

ished  it,  but  if  you  have  any  time  left  at  the  end  of 
the  whole  paper,  you  will  find  it  well  spent  in  re- 
reading all  your  answers.  You  will  sometimes  be 
amazed  at  the  mistakes  you  find,  mistakes  that  you 
would  not  have  believed  it  possible  you  could  make 
had  you  not  seen  them  actually  lying  there  before 
you  in  your  own  handwriting.  The  last  thing  you 
should  do  before  handing  in  your  papers  is  to  see 
that  the  proper  number  of  the  question  is  placed 
before  each  answer,  and  that  your  own  name  and 
any  other  indications  are  placed  where  they  ought  to 
be.  This  last  is  merely  a  special  precaution,  as 
every  experienced  student  knows  that  his  first  busi- 
ness in  dealing  with  his  examination  answer  book  is 
to  fill  in  his  name  and  other  particulars. 


[286] 


INDEX 


Absorption,  129 
Addisqn,  173,  255 
"Allusive"  writers,  196 
Alsted,  J[ohann  Heinrich,  202 
Alternative,  fixing  of  the,  79 
Analogy,  105 

Analysis  of  Chapter  IV,  237 
Analytical  note-taking,  229 
Appeals  for  subject  matter,  209 
Apperception,  89 
Area  of  attention,  132,  133 
Areopagitica,  263 
Aristotle,  179 

Armstrong,  Professor  Henry  E.,  ISO 
Arnold,  Felix,  222 
Ascham,  Roger,  17,  18,  19,  157 
Assimilation,  89 
Associative  listening,  217 
Attention,  classification  and  manip- 
ulation of,  123 
Rhythm  of,  130 
Attitude,  the  potency  of,  116 
Audiles,  24,  25 


Baedeker,  22O 

Bennett,  Arnold,  162 

Bible,  173,  200 

Bibliographies,  208 

Bi-polar  process  in  lecturing,  214 

Blake,  William,  28 

Block  system,  71 

Bookishness,  155 

Books  of  reference,  188 

Bookworms,  156 

Bounder,  28 

Brain,  upper  and  lower,  12 

Brewer,  Dr.  E.  C.,  197 

Britannica  Encyclopedia,  203,  204 

Browning,  38,  165 

Browsing,  172 

"Brute"  Memory,  6 1,  73 

Buffon,  116 

Burke,  150,  173 


Calculation  of  probabilities  at  exam- 
inations, 273 

Careless  reading  of  examination  ques- 
tions, 282 

Carlyle,  180 

Chambers'  Encyclopadia,  203,  206 

Choleric*,  2i 


Clarke,  Mrs.  Cowden,  200 
Committing  to  memory,  67 
Complete  detail  method,  56 
Conceit,  25,  27 
Concentration  beat,  131,  215 

Range  of,  132 
Concordances,  199 
Conscience,  44,  45,  49,  113,  174,  182, 

187 

Co-operative  study,  ill 
Cranmer,  3 
Cromwell,  148 
Crusoe,  Robinson,  226,  263 
Curve  of  fatigue,  48,  49 


D'Alembert,  139,  140 

Dante,  223 

Dative  in  Latin,  76 

Deductive  thinking,  100 

Defoe,  263 

Desk  table,  114 

Dialectic  compositions,  257,  260 

Dickens,  264 

Dictation  in  lecturing,  228 

Dictionaries  and  their  uses,  189 

English-foreign,  190 

Rhyming,  197 

Size  of,  193 

Supplementary  dictionaries,  196 
Dictionary,  168,  169,  171 

Definition  of,  200 

Distinction      from     encyclopsedia, 

202,  203 

Difference  of  opinions,  cause  of,  95 
Difficulties,  how  to  deal  with,  137 
Diffusion  beat,  130,  216 
Drummond,  Professor,  149 


Early  rising,  114 

Educand,  6 

Educand  to  educator,  7,  32 

Combination  of  educand  and  edu- 
cator, 146 
Educator,  6 

External,  6 

Elimination  of  external  educator,  6 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  18 
Empirics,  106 
Encyclopaedias,  202 

Use  of  illustrated,  205 
Ends  and  ideals,  39 

Ends,  need  for  clear,  122,  151 


[287] 


Index 


English-Latin  dictionaries  and  their 

use,  191 
Ennui,  53 
Essay  writing,  351 
Essays  as  class  exercises,  356 
Euphuts,  18 
Examination  as  revision,  265 

As  test  267 

Examination  syllabuses,  270 
Examination  work,  92 
Examiner,  personality  of,  273 
Examiners  as  lecturers,  229 
Expression,  84 


Fabre,  J.  Henri,  29,  3L  14° 
Pact  into  faculty  84,  136 
Failure,  temporary,  140 
Fatigue,  45 

Pathological  form  of,  54 
Fatigue  curve,  48 
Fatigue-producing  effects,  53 
Form  and  matter  in  composition,  254 
Foster,  255 

Free  translation  versus  literal,  242 
Freedom,  8,  31 
Froebel,  84 

Full  marks  at  examinations,  281 
Fumbling,  107,  151 


Gaping  point,  the,  143.  151 
Goldsmith,  39,  173,  255 
Gravitation,  law  of.  85 
Gray,  70 

Grey,  Lady  Jane,  18 
Guessing,  93,  98 

H 

Hamilton,  Sir  William,  228 
Hamlet,  263 
Hard  Wits,  20,  57.  157 
Hormsworth's  Encyclopaedia,  304,  206 
Headstone.  Bradley,  264,  267 
Hearing  distinguished  from  listening, 

Henry  VII,  illustrative  study  of,  117 
Herder,  J.  G.,  159 
Heuristic  method,  149 
Hints  for  the  actual  working  of  ex- 
amination papers,  274 
Home  study,  36,  40 
Humours,  21 
Huxley,  234 
Hypothesis,  99 


Ideals,  38 

Ideas.  86 

Impression,  84 

Inattention,  123,  216 

Index,  1 86 

Index  to  encyclopedia,  204 


Inductive  thinking,  100 

Inference,  107 

Inference  stage,  141 

Instalment  system  of  memorizing,  66 

Instruction,  meaning  and  applica- 
tion, 218 

Intercourse,  24,  25,  154,  155,  166, 
178,  188,  189 

Interest  and  its  manipulation,  126 

Introspection,  14 


Jacotot,  29 

Jesuits  on  lecturing,  228 

Johnson,  Dr.,  169,  255 


Kemsies,  52 
Kipling,  198 
Knowledge,  three  ways  of  acquiring, 

24 
Active  and  passive,  85 


Lamb,  Charles,  254 

Latin  prepositions,  77 

Laurie,  Professor,  30 

Laws  of  thought,  as  thought,  94,  99 

Le  Bon,  Gustave,  n 

Learning  by  rote  or  by  heart,  67 

Lecturer's  notes  in  relation  to  stu- 
dent's notes,  236 

Lectures  as  a  means  of  communi- 
cating knowledge,  224 
As  distinguished  from  chapter  in 

textbook,  225 
Inspirational  or  didactic,  317 

Lecturing,  bi-polar,  214 

Lecturing  distinguished  from  teach- 
ing, 314 

Lernfreiheit,  33 

Lip  movements  in  reading,  158 

Listening  distinguished  from  hearing, 

213 

Listening  intermittent  and  rhyth- 
mical, 215 
"Projection"  in  listening,  316 

Locke,  John,  96,  98,  209 

Long-hand  note-taking,  228 

Looking  before  and  after,  134 

Loose  sentence  in  lecturing,  226 

Lotze,  Professor,  22 

M 

Macaulay,  Lord,  170 

Mackay,  Dr.,  75 

Manipulation  of  time  at  examination, 

277 

Map  of  England,  121 
Marking  books,  175 
Mathematical  limit,  38,  39 
Melancholies,  21 
Memoria  lichnica,  74 


[288] 


Index 


Memories,  kinds  of,  24 

Memory,  effect  of  clean  living  on,  61 

Improvement  of  in  a  certain  di- 
rection, 65 

Index  of,  62 

Management  of,  60 

Rational,  ?a 

Training  of,  73 

Verbal,  72 
Mental  content,  85 
Mental  second  wind,  54 
Mental  stock-taking,  265 
Milton,  70 

His  vocabulary,  167,  264 
Mnemon,  18 
Mnemonics,  75,  8 1 
Montaigne,  68 
Moreri,  Louis,  202 
Motors,  22 
Murray,  Sir  James  A.  H.  IPS 

N 

National  Biography,  the  dictionary  of, 

262 

New  international  encyclopaedia,  207 
Nones,  77 
Note-making  and  its  forms,  223 

(a)  Verbatim,  223 

(6)  Long-hand,  227 

(c)  Unsystematic  or  topical,  229 

(d)  Analytical,  231 
Novel  reading,  153 


Objective  self,  4.  *7 
Obliviscence.  index  of,  63,  222 
Observation,  24 

Observation  stage,  142 
Old  examination  papers,  273 
Oratories  Institutiones,  19 
Organization  of  lecture,  234 
Over-fatigue,  46 
Over-pressure,  45 


Partnership  in  study,  in 

Pecker,  80 

Pecker,  80 

Periodic  sentence  in  lecturing,  226 

Philekoos,  19 

Philepainos,  19 

Philomathes,  18 

Philoponos.  18 

Phlegmatics,  21 

Pierce,  Gilbert  A.,  200 

Plato,  18,  179 

Poets,  two  kinds  of,  165 

"Point"  of  an  examination  question, 

281 

Point  of  view  in  composition,  253 
Practical  thinking,  107 
Practice-effect,  47 


Practice  in  note-taking,  233 

Preaching,  214 

Preferences  of  students,  24 

Preferred  sense,  23 

Premises,  100 

Preparation  for  examinations,  268 

Priggishness,  27 

Private  student,  the,  56,    112,    154, 

183.  185 
Problems,  91,  267 

Recognition  of,  138 

Three  stages  in  dealing  with,  140 
Professors  and  students,  179 
Progress  between  lessons,  43,  66,  67 
Purpose,  in  listening,  213 

In  reading,  173 

In  seeking  knowledge,  91,  173 


Quick  wits,  20,  57,  157 
Quintilian,  19 


Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  218,  221 
Rapid  impression  method,  56 
Rational  memories,  23 
Reading,  24,  25 

Desultory,  171 

General,  170 

Leisurely,  164 

Lip  movements  in,  158 

Marking  books  in,  175 

Mechanism  of,  156 

Possibility  of  increased  rate  of,  162 

Rate  of,  157 

Relation   between   speed   and   ac- 
curacy of,  163 

"Silent,"  159 

To  acquire  tone,  173 
Real  living,  13 
Reflexion,  3 
Reflexive  verbs,  3 
Reports,  256 
Republic,  The,  n 

Research,    the    beginnings    of,    with 
illustration,  210 

The  research  method,  258,  260 
Rhyme  and  rhythm  in  mnemonics,  77 
Rhyming  dictionaries,  197 

Geographies  and  histories.  7 
Rnbinson  Crusoe,  226,  263 
Roget's  Thesaurus,  190 
Room-sharing,  in 
Rousseau,  150 

Royal  road  to  learning,  34,  138 
Ruskin,  234 


Sanguines,  21 

Scaffolding,  76.  77.  81,  82.  138 
School  versus  College,  32 
Schoolmaster,  The,  17,  ao 
Scott,  164 


[289] 


Index 


Self,  subjective  and  objective,  4,  7.  10 
Self -consciousness,  10,  n,  14,  26 
Self-educated,  28.  33 
Self -education,  28 
Self-esteem,  16 

Self-examination,  10,  14,  17,  26 
Self-expression,  8 
Self-questioning,  149 
Self-realization,  8,  16,  17 
Self -reference,  15 
Selfishness,  15 
Sensories,  22 
Shakespeare,  134,  171 

His  vocabulary,  168 
Shelley,  134,  166 
"Shots"  at  examinations,  283 
"Silent"  reading,  159 
Size  of  dictionaries,  193 

Of  encyclopaedias,  203 
Skeat,  Professor  W.  W.,  167 
Skipping,  173 
Smith,  Dr.  Walter  C.,  154 
Socrates,  147,  148 
Socratic  irony,  147 
Socratic  method,  145 
Solon,  16 
Spencer,  H.,  84 
Steele,  225 

Stevenson,  R.  L.,  257 
"Stock"  questions  at  examinations, 

274 

Stock-taking,  personal,  17 
Student's  Manual.  The,  137 
Student,  the  private,   56,   112,   154, 

183,  185 

Student's  attitude  towards  lecturing, 
217 

Notes    in    relation    to    lecturer's 

notes,  236 
Students,  external,  154 

In  relation  to  assimilative  and  con- 
structive work,  91 

Internal,  154 

Two  classes  of,  in  relation  to  text- 
books, 183 

Study,  acquisitive  (assimilative)  and 
constructive,  88 

In  relation  to  physical  comfort,  114 

The  test  of,  119 
Study  period,  length  of,  50 
Style  stiited  for  lecturing,  226 
Subjective,  4 
"Subjects,"  201 
Swing  effect,  47,  49,  129 
Synonyms,  dictionaries  of,  199 


Tactiles,  24 

Taking  stock  of  oneself,  16,  17 

Teacher,  place  of,  between  textbook 
and  pupil,  180 

Teaching,  distinguished  from  lec- 
turing, 214 

Temperament,  20,  116 


Tennyson,  164,  166, 172 
Textbooks,  24,  165 

Definition  of,  178 

Distinction  from  books  of  refer- 
ence, 1 88 

How  to  use,  186 

Origin  of,  178 

Retention  of  old,  187 

Two  kinds  of,  according  as  sub- 
ject or  reader  is  more  prominent, 
184 

Versus  teacher,  183 
Thackeray,  7,  98 
Thinking,  practical,  100,  107 

The  three  stages  of — thing,  law, 
system,  134 

Without  words,  167 
Thoroughness,  56,  135,  174 
Thring,  Edward,  116 
Time,  English  and  American,  81 
Time-tables,  35 

Danger  of  rigidity  of,  44 

Evening,  37 

Order  of  subjects  on,  42 
Todd,  Rev.  John,  137,  138,  139,  143 
Toga  liberior,  I 
Toga  virilis,  I,  32,  41 
Topical  (or  unsystematic)  note-tak- 
ing, 229 
Translation,  241 

Illustrative  passage,  246 

U 

Uccello,  207 

Unconscious  cerebration,  67 
Unit  in  learning  by  rote,  71 
"Unseen"  translation,  242,  245 


Verbal  memories,  23 

Verbatim  notes,  223 

Visuals,  23,  25 

Vocabularies,     the     three,     reading, 

writing,  and  speaking,  169 
Vocabulary  of  the  English  Bible,  an 

educated  Englishman,  a  Chinese 

historian,  an   illiterate   peasant, 

168,  169 
Means  of  enriching,  170 

W 

Wagner.  52 

Webster,  195,  200 

Wells,  H.  G.,  37 

Whirlwinds,  direction  of,  80 

Wits,  quick  and  hard,  20,  57,  IJ7 

Words.  162 

Work  under  fatigue,  53 

"Writing  up"  notes,  231 


Zeletikos,  19 


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